


Sympathy For The Devil

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [15]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1970s, F/M, Other characters from Poldark will be added, Ross and Dem, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: "Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste..."Ladies and gentlemen, Hugh Armitage
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Malcolm McNeil, Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark, Hugh Armitage/Demelza Carne
Series: 33 and 1/3 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420387
Comments: 147
Kudos: 46





	1. Happy House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is but a dream
> 
> Spring 1977

A joint of lamb and a mass of sausages greeted Jud as he went to retrieve a bottle of ginger beer. Jud looked at the top shelf of the refrigerator in confusion. "'Ere, Prudie? Did ee rob the butcher? Wha all them sausages 'ere for?" Prudie looked up from her magazine. There was time to pursue it as her cakes were baking. "Young Malcolm be comin' Saturday. If'n I didn't get tha many they's as like to starve! Ee know 'ow they d'run around..." Jud gave a snort of a laugh. Prudie spoke of Malcolm, Ross and Dem as if they were an age to Jeremy. Bangers and mash and chocolate cake. Necessary provisions for a weekend with Malcolm McNeil as a guest. The Paynters were off for the weekend so she was leaving things in readiness, on Friday, before they left. "Been a while since we did 'ave chocolate cake..." said Jud, angling for his Sunday tea. "There be glacé cherries an' all." smiled Prudie. Jud was particular. He seldom ate them but chocolate cake had to have a red glacé cherry, to decorate its top. It was only fitty. Jud smiled. It would be a good weekend off.

  
It would not be correct to say that Ross disliked Malcolm McNeil. That Ross was never quite at accepting of him, was true. That Dem had a firm friendship with the Scot was just one of those things, one supposed, like clouds in the sky or the patterns of the weather. It was what it was. Having met in London and enjoying jamming together, she on guitar and Malcolm on drums, they fell into a sibling like camaraderie that soon became an uncle like relationship to Ross' children, Jeremy and Clowance. Ross thought he had seen the back of him, for a year had gone by without Dem speaking of him and Malcolm disappeared. But he called, out of the 'blue', and they had missed each other, playing music together of course, but also visiting, hanging out. He had presents for Jeremy and the new baby and wanted to get together. And then, it was as if Malcolm had not gone at all. He returned to the fold. He would visit, should the Poldarks be in residence at their house in London. Very occasionally, he would make the journey to Nampara at the weekend and Dem would insist he stay at the gatehouse to have a proper time of it. Jeremy was always happy to see him and play intricate, make believe games that Ross found inscrutable. Clowance was cuddly with him and Ross could admit Malcolm was a charming guest who kept up a steady patter of chipper, friendly talk that amused even him. Ross was always disconcerted by the level of physical affection Dem and Malcolm showed each other. She thought nothing of curling up on the sofa with him or walking with his arm draped around her shoulder or her arm around his waist. Ross could see Malcolm was circumspect to some degree, but hardly enough to Ross' mind. They draped all over each other like rag dolls as they watched TV together. Ross came upon them watching a film. Malcolm's arm around her as he leaned his other elbow on the sofa's arm, leaning his head on his hand. Dem laying her head on his shoulder, in the crook of his arm and neither moved an inch. They simply looked to him and smiled 'hello' as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Ross was never sure what to make of it. Dem was content and Malcolm never crossed any lines that would make their clinginess untoward. It kept Ross off balance and made him a bit leery of Malcolm. Ross was polite and reciprocated friendliness but was always a little befuddled over it all.

Garrick was barking and running around in a circle. Malcolm had been his minder in London and was always an enjoyable playmate. One could almost forget he had two legs... Some of the most enjoyable, interesting walks were with Mummy and her puppies and her friend...

Ross sat in the back of the house in a lawn chair, dozing. Dem and Jeremy had taken Malcolm in a long ramble with Clowance in her pushchair, so Ross was in the enjoyable and rare situation of having only himself to please. He had an exercise book and pen at the ready, for he had a mind to write some lyrics. The pleasant day and lack of responsibilities compelled him to nap. "Papa!" Ross was awakened by Jeremy throwing himself upon him and hugging his neck. He had the patented scent of little boys, a clean sweat, a hint of whatever plants or trees or elements of nature he'd gotten into and the strange pheromone that held Ross in the thrall of his children. The love and closeness that bound them together. "Hello! Have you had a good walk?" Jeremy crawled onto the chair and Ross sat up a little so they could talk properly. "Yes, Papa! We took Blue to the Holy Well!" Ross smiled. He looked to Dem as she came near with Clowance in her arms. Clowance and Ross' grins mirrored each other. "Did you get the pushchair in there?!" asked Ross, incredulous that should be so. "Oh no!" said Dem, laughing. "I didn't dare. Jeremy showed Blue the way and we waited at the entrance. "Ross scanned about. "Did you lose Malcolm? Is he trapped in the caves?" "No!" laughed Jeremy and Ross laughed too. He could hear Garrick so he assumed Malcolm was playing with him. They saw Garrick retrieve a stick and then run back away. This went on for two more throws before Malcolm appeared. His jeans were sandy and he smiled fondly at them all. Garrick leaped around him and was rewarded with some firm taps to the flanks. "There's a good'un!" he said to Garrick and looked up again. "Alright, Ross?" "Very well, thank you." smiled Ross. Jeremy had his arms around his neck, telling him all about their adventures with Blue, Clowance was smiling. Dem was happy, with the shinning sort of smile that Ross so enjoyed seeing and Garrick had more exercise in an afternoon than he may have had all week. That was a feather in Malcolm's cap, Ross had to admit. They had lemonade and talked about this and that. Ross, Malcolm and Jeremy had a kick about with Jeremy's football and Clowance was put down for a nap. By four, they came inside. Clowance was awake. She and Blue sat on the floor of the parlor and she, very solemnly, handed her dolls to Blue to admire, one at a time. He sat each one on the pew next to them and they admired the happy little family of dolls, sitting side by side. Clowance's explanations were limited by her small vocabulary but Blue paid close attention and listened to her like an acolyte receiving wisdom from an oracle priestess.

"I met Andy Warhol..." Plunk.

"Get away! Really?!" plunk.

Ross chuckled. "Yes, though I didn't talk to him too much. He was very quiet..." Dem stood at the stove and listened to the conversation Blue and Ross were having with interest. Ross never talked about his time in America. Malcolm had been a session player in New York and coaxed stories out of Ross that she hadn't heard before. They sat at the kitchen table. Ross held Clowance and Blue helped peel the potatoes. He left the peelings in one bowl and the potatoes in another bowl of cold water so they would not turn dark before they were boiled. "Told me hello and looked at me, this way and that, for a while. Then he said I should sit for a screen test." Malcolm looked up from his potato, half peeled, mouth open in surprise. "Fu..., Er," Blue stopped himself swearing in front of the children. Jeremy was sitting in the chair across from him, coloring pictures in a book. "D'ee really 'ave a screen test?!" Blue resumed potato peeling. "Yes. It can't have been much of anything. I sat in a chair and they all sort of stared at me. For all I know the camera wasn't even on!" Blue laughed, impressed. "I met all sorts in New York but no one as grand as that!" Ross smiled but wanted to change the subject. His heroin habit started in New York and he didn't like thinking back on that time. Dem must have sensed this for she asked, "How are you getting on, Blue?" Ross and Dem shared a smile as Malcolm looked to her. "Nearly done, love!" he said as he placed another potato in the bowl. Clowance giggled on Ross' knee, enjoying a "horse ride" on her father's knee as he recited "Banbury Cross". Malcolm countered with "Little Boy Blue", which was seen to be clever. Jeremy, not to be outdone, sang "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and Dem smiled over the sausages as she, Blue and Ross joined him in a round, singing at a stagger to each other and extending the song to Jeremy and Clowance's delight as Blue stood and brought the bowl of peeled potatoes to sit on the counter by the stove and Dem finished the song, the last voice to finish. The smiles between them all widened as Blue sat back down. Ross and Malcolm continued to entertain the children at the table and Dem sighed a sigh of contentment over the gently cooking sausages, enough to commandeer two skillets. It was a lovely day.  
They ate in the kitchen, informally, for Blue was practically family. The children enjoyed having an extra guest. Papa and Mama and Blue were very amusing together and there was never a lack of things to do or say. Pleasantly full and having dispatched every last sausage, they went back to the parlor.  
"That was lovely, Red. Thank you." "You're welcome, Blue." They had candy from an assortment tin for afters. They would have Prudie's chocolate cake tomorrow. "Would you like to use the six string, Blue?" Ross raised his eyebrows. He knew Malcolm was a drummer. He didn't know he could play guitar as well. "Aye, Red. I'd like that." She crossed the room and retrieved the maple Gibson. "Here we are. Have fun, Blue. I'm going to put Clowance to bed. I'll be back in a little while."  
Malcolm wished Clowance good night. Ross kissed her forehead and wished her pleasant dreams. Jeremy called out goodnight over his toy cars on the parlor floor. Malcolm strummed aimlessly and Jeremy smiled. Guitars and music in the evening were a happy part of life in Nampara. Malcolm was shy. Ross and Red both played better than he could. Ross grinned and stood to get his black Gibson. "What's it to be, Malcolm?" 

  
Faintly, through the floorboards as Dem was settling Clowance for the night, she could hear Ross and Blue playing and it made her feel happy. She had grown up in this house, falling asleep, hearing Ross play, learned to play herself and had a deep sense of satisfaction hearing her husband and her friend's music curling through the house. The different seasons of her life in harmony. Her marriage returned to its harmony. Her friendship with Malcolm picking up where it left off with no awkwardness. Her children content, Jeremy playing with his toys, Clowance falling sleep to the ever changing lullabies that were heard coming through the floorboards... The heartbreak of Ross having had a child with Elizabeth was a fading pain. It was never erased but it could be set aside, it could exist and not harm her day to day life... Especially when life felt this sweet...

  
Dem returned to the parlor. Jeremy looked up from his toys and smiled. She sat with him and shared the special smile that mothers and sons often share. She chose a car and listened to Jeremy's explanation of how the race on the parlor floor was progressing. Dem also could hear Ross holding back a little, as she realized only in retrospect he had done playing with her when she was young and learning. Blue could play well but Ross would not show off, let Blue play with confidence. It charmed her. She sat on the floor by Jeremy and they spent a happy evening eating candy and playing songs. Blue knew Ross was being merciful towards him and he was grateful. He was spending time with the Poldarks and was a welcome guest. That made him happy. Red looked radiant in her happiness and it cheered him. When he met Red he couldn't understand Ross, couldn't understand why Red was so stuck on Ross. He seemed like a hard man, a careless man who made her sad. A tyrant who kept her down. Ross had injured Red's heart. Ross had brought Red to despair when they first met in '75, that wasn't a mirage. But having met Ross, having witnessed them as a couple in their reconciliation, Blue could see the love between them. He could see the contentment in them all, Jer, little Clowance, as happy as he had been in Scotland, growing up in a happy home with loving parents. Blue could see sweetness between them when he visited. He could see Red was happy. The Poldarks were mysterious. The cracks and fault lines between Red and Ross were still there in small ways. Blue was still a little wary of Ross, wary that Red's husband could behave badly toward her again, having proven himself a problem once, but Blue could admit Red's husband was not the complete tosser he suspected Ross to be when Red was suffering in the London house. Ross made it up to her, made Red smile again and they had little Clowance. Ross Poldark wasn't all bad... 

The next morning the Poldarks, with Garrick in tow, brought breakfast to the gatehouse. They all had delicious Chelsea buns, sweet rolls curled around themselves like snails with raisins and mixed peel encased in the soft baked dough, tea for the grown ups and milk for the children. Garrick had a bun of his own, baked from plain dough, and in his way believed himself to be equal to humans and the recipient of a superior breakfast. They lolled about in the gatehouse visiting, lingering over their Sunday morning and they all went back to the main house. The children demanded play and were indulged. Dem magicked a succulent roast dinner with all the trimmings and a sharp, vinegar mint sauce as well as a sweet mint jelly, to accompany the lamb, soft bread rolls, roast potatoes, baked tomatoes and quite thin green beans. They ate their contented fill and played records for a while. Then they had more tea and tucked into Prudie's chocolate cake. Malcolm hugged the children and promised he would visit again soon. He shook Ross' hand and thanked him for his hospitality. He gave Red a bear hug and told her he'd call, by and by. They waved goodbye as he drove off having watched Garrick bound around him in circles one last time before he got in the car. It had been a lovely weekend.

Blue, armed with his road map, an extra piece of Prudie's cake wrapped in cling film and the warm wishes to get home safe from the Poldarks nestled around him like proper protection, made his way home. Malcolm was back in London. He thought it through and was not ready to make a new life in California, the place where session work was really happening in the States. He went back to London. He was not sure what was next but had faith something would click into place. He'd enjoyed spending time with Red and her family. Jeremy had shown him a spring in a cave, sweet water, not salt, and told him it was magic. One could make wishes at the spring and they might come true. After Jeremy's instruction, Blue put his right forefinger in the water, made three crosses with it and said, "Father, Son, Holy Spirit." Jeremy told Blue in a solemn manner he must let the water dry on his finger, so he did. Wishes are secret. One must not admit them aloud or they would not come true. So Blue kept his secret in his heart. One day, Red would have her own record. If he played on it, Blue would consider himself lucky, fortunate, but his wish was for Red. Red who watched him playing guitar, sitting on the floor of her parlor. That mad, laughing, sparkle eyed girl who played a white, no name guitar like a rock star in his rehearsal room... However it could be contrived, Red would go forth and make her own music.

Father, Son, Holy Spirit, make it so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy House, Siouxsie and the Banshees 1980
> 
> This is the happy house-we're happy here in the happy house oh it's such fun  
> We've come to play in the happy house  
> And waste a day in the happy house-it never rains  
> We've come to scream in the happy house We're in a dream in the happy house  
> We're all quite sane  
> This is the happy house-we're happy here There's room for you if you say "I do"  
> But don't say no or you'll have to go  
> We've done no wrong with our blinkers on It's safe and calm if you sing along  
> This is the happy house-we're happy here in the happy house.  
> To forget ourselves-and pretend all's well There is no hell. 
> 
> football:soccer ball
> 
> Ross' Factory screen test resides in the archives of the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania


	2. Magic Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New kid in town

Jill Hookam was tired of being chased around desks. She hoped switching jobs and working at Warner Records might be an improvement from working in financial offices. Handsy executives who felt the receptionists and secretaries were fair game were common there. Among some of the other girls it was said that working for music executives was better because the men, usually, had a wife, a mistress and a steady stream of young hopefuls who wanted to break into the business to keep them occupied. The clerical staff were free to get on with their jobs, for the most part. That was good to hear as far as Jill was concerned. She had yet to meet the man she was assigned to. People said he was transferring from France and a very high up sort of producer in that country. Jill expected the sort of portly, older man she'd seen in this building. When a young man in dark glasses came in holding a cardboard box, Jill mistook him for a courier at first. "You can leave that with the others..." Jill said crisply, waving her hand towards the other boxes of Mr. Armitage's belongings. She watched him smirk. That got her back up. He said, in a friendly tone of voice, an extremely posh sort of voice, "And who are you, mademoiselle?" She frowned a little, 'Can't be a courier with an accent like that!' She sat up straighter, but not in deference. She was at her desk flicking through a magazine for she had no tasks until her boss arrived. Who ever this was, 'maybe it's his son or a nephew...?' she knew her job and wasn't going to stoop to anyone. She sat facing him, like a queen on a throne, at the helm of her base of operation. "I am the receptionist. Please leave that box with Mr. Armitage's other effects." The cockney tinge to her command was charming. "Ahhhh... We've not been introduced. I am Hugh Armitage." He set the box on her desk and extended his hand to shake hers. She startled. "Oh! Forgive me! I thought you would be older!" The smirk remained. "Ha! I suppose that would be the natural order of things around here. Pleased to meet you..." She inclined her head. "Jill. Jill Hookam, sir." He brightened. "Hookam! You wouldn't be related to Margot Fonteyn?" Her mouth fell open. "The ballet dancer?!" Jill's voracious appetite for ladies magazines had given her a varied amount of cultural information. Hugh was heartened that she recognized the ballerina. "Yes! Her given name was Hookam!" Jill blushed. "Oh no, sir! But I suppose we're all related once you get back to the Ark!" Hugh's smirk widened a fraction. "I expect so. Would you mind helping me arrange my office?" She nodded. "Books is it?" she asked as she followed him into the larger room. "Primarily..."

He took a look around. An elegant room with grand views of London. They walked to the desk and he opened a box. Jill looked in and was surprised to see the same coloured fairy books her grandmother had. "Oh! My gran had them too!" Hugh smiled. The difference between his smile and his smirk was noticeable. Jill had an eye on a blouse at Jaeger. Maybe she should pick it up on the weekend. If this boss was handsy, she might not disapprove. "Did she?" He looked charmed. "Have you read them?" Jill demurred, smiled apologetically. They were very old fashioned, wordy stories. "I gave them a flick through, sometimes." Hugh was happy. His receptionist recognized Margot Fonteyn and had passing knowledge of Coloured Fairy Books. What a marvelous stroke of luck! "I adore them! Never tire of them..." He took off his sunglasses and put them in the pocket of his shirt. He doubled back to place his black trench coat on a Thonet, bent wood coat hanger near the entrance, by a huge, round, brass lamp on the floor with an opaque black shade, the first of four in the room. He turned to face Jill. Hugh admired her forties style two piece suit in a jaunty print -little darts or arrows all over it. She had her hair lacquered for battle, but retaining some natural allure, not too stiff. Handsome red fingernails that matched her lipstick and shone against the Lilac Fairy Book she was holding. She was a diminutive girl, the stature of the lower orders -food made to stretch in a large family, generations gone. Her height was improved by extremely nice red shoes. Hugh could see that she paid attention to detail, had a sharp eye for quality. Jill was the sort of girl who would save her pennies to get a longed for item rather than buy 'any ol' thing'... She froze with a Fairy Book in her hand. Mr. Armitage looked young enough, she might have mistaken him for the son of an executive rather than the boss himself. His clothes were not flashy, but the high quality of the button down shirt and well cut slacks, black brogues polished like a mirror was evident. He was slender but not too thin, tall but not imposing. His hair had a natural waviness that fell like an old time movie idol about his head, his lips were somewhat thin. This was not a bad thing. He had a hawk like profile. A strong nose but it did not overtake his face. His eyes were dark and fringed with lashes that made them more alluring. He had a pallor to him that made his stark black coat and sunglasses a bit sinister. With them removed he looked like a hero on a the cover of a romance novel. Jill blinked herself back to a proper frame of mind. Mr. Armitage was very attractive. "If you wouldn't mind shelving them..." He looked at the vast wall of empty shelves behind the desk. "...There!" He pointed to the area directly behind his chair. "Of course, sir."

They spent a pleasant hour shelving various books. Hugh was ferrying an extraordinary amount of back issues of a Swiss magazine called 'Du' from their boxes to the lower shelves. There were so many he set some on the floor itself in piles that were high enough to be piles but not so high as to be a nuisance to rummage through. Hugh inclined his head, conspiratorially toward Jill as they placed a full set of 19th century 'The Yellow Book' anthologies in their new home. "Shall I tell you a secret, Jill?" Jill looked to him with interest. His voice was teasing and dark sounding... Secrets... As she nodded her head she wondered if she should get that dress she had her eye on too. The promise of dark secrets gave way to mirth. Mr. Armitage spoke in a amused, chipper fashion. "I would deserve this office if this was France. Here, in London, I'm little better than the lads in the mail room!" She puzzled at this. "Why would that be, sir?" Hugh stood and walked to the plate glass windows that showed the city beyond like a picture post card. "In France I've achieved a great deal. I'm England, well," he chuckled. "Let's say I'm 'untested'." "Eh?" asked Jill, though Hugh seemed not to hear. "I have to make my own way in Blighty..." Mr. Armitage might have been the intrepid captain of a seafaring vessel. The sea air caressing his hair as he pressed onward to find his elusive muse, staring into a horizon that was no longer London. "Somewhere in that gilded city is Helen... If I can find my Helen..." "Helen?" asked Jill. He sighed, put his hands on his hips, staring out at London. "Helen of Troy. If I could find a girl to unleash on Britain in the manner of the French. A new girl! A girl for the Eighties... I should launch a thousand ships for her cause, I should offer her my devotion..." Jill watched her boss with a mixture of humor and fascination. He was nothing like any of her previous bosses. Mr. Armitage was different.

After an hour of concerted effort, the objets and personal effects of Mr. Hugh Armitage were installed in his Warner office. He stepped back to admire their work. "Ha! That's a bit more like home!" Jill fretted over the remaining piles of Du magazines on the floor. "Mightn't we get them magazines off the floor, sir?" Hugh cast a fond glance over them. "Oh, I thumb through them so often, I expect they're better off there." He looked her up and down. Alert. Obliging. A young woman who kept up with trends and made an effort over herself. The spark of interest. A woman who worked for herself and had not found her knight in shinning armor yet. And she knew his cultural references right off the bat. They would get on. He'd not be her shinning knight, but the whisps of a dream would bring loyalty to a small degree. 'She wants respect' thought Hugh. 'A cockney girl who's clever and wants everyone to know it...' Yes. They'd get on well. "Thank you, Miss Hookam." smiled Hugh. "Or do you prefer Jill?" Jill risked batting her eyelashes and enjoyed the smile it produced from him. Different from the smirk she'd seen earlier.

"Jill, if you please. Mr. Armitage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magic Man, Heart 1975
> 
> Cold, late night so long ago  
> When I was not so strong you know  
> A pretty man came to me  
> I never seen eyes so blue  
> You know, I could not run away it seemed  
> We'd seen each other in a dream  
> Seemed like he knew me, he looked right through me, yeah  
> "Come on home, girl" he said with a smile  
> "You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile  
> But try to understand, try to understand  
> Try, try, try to understand, I'm a magic man"  
> Winter nights we sang in tune  
> Played inside the months of moon  
> "Never think of never let this spell last forever"  
> Well, summer lover passed to fall  
> Tried to realize it all  
> Mama says she's worried, growing up in a hurry  
> "Come on home, girl" Mama cried on the phone  
> "Too soon to lose my baby yet, my girl should be at home"  
> But try to understand, try to understand  
> Try, try, try to understand, he's a magic man, Mama, ah  
> He's a magic man  
> "Come on home, girl" he said with a smile  
> "I cast my spell of love on you, a woman from a child"  
> But try to understand, try to understand  
> Oh, oh, try, try, try to understand,  
> He's a magic man, oh, he's got the magic hands  
> Oh's over top  
> "Come on home, girl" he said with a smile  
> "You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile"  
> But try to understand, try to understand  
> Try, try, try to understand, he's a magic man, yeah, oh


	3. She's A Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Networking

Hugh Armitage, lately from France, returned to London and embraced this homecoming with a heavy heart. His eye strain and occasional headaches were, if the doctors were to be believed, the precursor of a fatal disease. Hugh was staring down his own mortality with eyes that were marching, inexorably toward failure. His health was declining and his life as it stood was at a crossroads. A top producer in France, Hugh felt the pull of trying to best the more difficult beast of England and the United Kingdom. French performers had better luck than their English counterparts. Once the hurdle of representation by a major label was out of the way, the promise of exposure, of airplay, of television was easy to keep. The demand for homegrown, French language pop songs was inexhaustible. Hugh's performers stood apart in this crowded landscape. He was a visualizer. He created a mystique about them, took aspects of their interests and personality, and made them stars by giving the public enough curated information to feel like they knew them, wanted to know them better. He'd done all he could in France and with his health giving him troubles felt what time we left might be better spent testing his laboratory of magic tricks with a British artist. Try to crack the harder nut. The glut of signed acts in the U.K. meant that even highly talented people could fall through the cracks of the industry. An irresistible challenge in any case, for Hugh the challenge was now or never.  
There was a specialist in New York. A second opinion was certainly a wise thing to pursue. Perhaps things are not as dour as suggested. One could argue it was a third opinion since it was the opinion of the French doctor that brought Hugh back to England. A change is as good as a rest. A chance to mount one last stand. A whim made real. Having conquered as much as one could in France, could those French techniques find traction in Britain? Hugh was a man of ideas, a man of vision. Could he have a turn at the wheel on the grand stage? The prime music market? Was it possible to launch an English girl in the YéYé manner of the French? Why not try?  
In that case, a trip to New York must wait. More useful is a trip to Sir Hugh Brodrugan's monthly salon. Newly returned to London, the fastest way for Hugh Armitage to gain knowledge of the lay of the land was to attend this networking event where many movers and shakers mingled and interchanged ideas. There were suggestions from more than one Warner executive that he would hit the ground running as he began the English chapter of his successful career on the continent by sending out feelers at this event. Hugh already had a stack of publicity photos and bios of Warner new hopefuls and some girls who'd already enjoyed a bit of success. Hugh was not opposed to working with a girl who had some success, it might speed up the process to have the public recognise his artist. It was an elusive concept. A girl who Hugh could dream over and launch in a subtle dovetail of her own personality and his vision. This was never a meeting of equals, however much he admired and respected their talents. Hugh was the overarching controller of the projects. Hugh was the boss. There was an opportunity to throw all his efforts into one grand experiment. It was said that Brodrugan's salon was THE place to be should one wish to rub shoulders with the best in the business, across the industry, not just Brodrugan's label, EMI. A strong start in a new landscape.  
"We'll cause confusion, m'boy!" laughed Sir Hugh Brodrugan, shaking Hugh's hand and sizing him up. He'd forwarded an invitation to Armitage the minute he heard he had switched from France to London. A wunderkund in France, the producer leaving and coming back to Blighty was intriguing. Hugh chuckled. "I suppose we should keep to last names, though you rule the roost here..." A pleasant joke. A pleasant enough host. A good idea. Hugh decided to host his own affair, not monthly but an event in his own house on his own terms. He'd not have marauding female escorts milling about for a start. He thought this as he scanned the room. 'I shall hold an elegant soiree...' thought Hugh.

Malcolm McNeil was of two minds about Sir Hugh Brodrugan's monthly salons. On the one hand it was a nest of vipers, filled with spoiled executives and grasping escort women looking to gossip and exploit people. He had heard all manner of rude talk and one upmanship when he first attended in 1975. But it was, without a doubt, the place where music people with clout connected. Even two musicians with little clout at all had met at Brodrugan's party, time back. For all there were unsavory aspects among these corporate types, Blue met Red at the monthly salon and might not have crossed paths with her otherwise so that, at least, made the salon somewhat useful. Malcolm ran into his friend Jean Quimper and they agreed to go together, to see what might be seen and look for opportunities. Jean, also a drummer, was as reluctant to go to California in the States as Malcolm was. Having enjoyed working in New York, come to fit within the rhythm of that city, the West coast was mysterious. They both hesitated to go back to America. America wasn't going anywhere. The pull westward might still be a wise choice. For now, time to see what could be had closer to home. Jean was more of a gregarious person tonight. Malcolm hung back a little, watching, listening. Jean, a Frenchman, was happy to run into a countryman, one of the bigwigs in his field of production. An English producer so wedded to France Jean was surprised he should be here. Malcolm sat on the arm of a sofa, nearby. He had enough grasp of French to understand they were discussing mutual acquaintances. It was a good thing that they switched to English midway through their conversation for what transpired next was fortuitous.

"If I could find an English girl to work with, I'd love to try to build an English act in the manner of the French. I'm sure it's possible!" Jean twisted his mouth in disagreement. "You would find it hard going, England is a different beast to France..." Hugh sighed as Jean sipped his drink. "I know, I know. I want to take it on though. I'm going to stay with my uncle, in Cornwall, this week to think things through. I have some bios and photos to go through. Warner is giving me free reign, they are happy with my track record up to this point. I think they are just as curious as I am to see if it's doable..." Malcolm, who was apart from this exchange, perked up at the mention of Cornwall. He scrambled off of the sofa arm and came alongside Jean who introduced Malcolm McNeil to Hugh Armitage. They shook hands. Hugh, elegantly attired in light blue shirt, without a tie, well cut, dark blue trousers and a belt of high grade leather that accented his slenderness looked to the drummer in front of him. Tall, gangly, thin but muscular. He had a very well trimmed mustache, goatee and short hair. He smiled and looked friendly. In his work shoes and jeans, his button down shirt, dark patterns just visible on the dark shirt, he might have been on his way to work at a factory. "Ee mentioned you was lookin' for a girl t'produce? An English girl?" "Yes," Hugh replied. "If I could use French tactics on an English performer, I'm sure I could make waves!" "An' ee say you'll be in Cornwall?" "Yes, my uncle has an estate in Cornwall..." Brodrugan approached them. "What's this? Have you property in Cornwall, Mr. Armitage?" Hugh smiled, affably. "I was saying my uncle is there and I shall be staying with him this week... " Brodrugan sipped his drink. "My place out there is "Weary House..." Hugh perked up with a spark of recognition. "Oh! My uncle's place is Tregothan! I believe that's near..." Brodrugan laughed. "Well I'll be! What a small world! I don't get out there half as much as I should..." He looked to Jean and Malcolm. "You on the lookout for drummers? You've got strong choice with these two!" Hugh demurred. Brodrugan was the host but he was also an EMI man. "Catching up on French chit chat with Mr. Quimper, he was just introducing his friend," Brodrugan gave Malcolm a pat on the shoulder. "Well, young Malcolm's a good drummer too, should the need arise!" Their host moved on to others. Malcolm was relieved because any talk of Red in front of Sir Hugh Brodrugan might bring on sly, embarrassing gossip. Brodrugan believed Malcolm had an affair with Demelza, a couple years ago, even though it wasn't true. Even though Malcolm denied it to him point blank more than once. He watched their host go out of earshot. "Ee know the Poldarks?" asked Malcolm. Hugh watched a smile spread over Quimper's face as he looked at both of them. "Haha! You will bring your Red to glory!" laughed Jean. Malcolm scrunched his eyes a little, smiling. An acknowledgement that Jean had anticipated his idea. Jean ribbed Malcolm over his friendship with Demelza sometimes. He knew Malcolm to be an upright sort of man, knew Malcolm did not have an affair with her, but still teased him, occasionally. Malcolm was a little smitten with his red haired friend... Hugh enjoyed the laid back, friendly manner of both men. "I do not know the Poldarks." said Hugh. "Who are they?" Malcolm told Hugh of a talented guitarist named Demelza Poldark. A Cornish girl who Malcolm swore could, "play like a bloke". Malcolm was insistent that she could rise to fame in the manner Hugh envisioned. "She's amazin'! We jammed a lot, 'er on guitar an' me on drums! I swear, if we 'ad a bass player we'd 'ave 'ad a proper trio, like Cream!" Hugh stopped himself from chuckling. Malcolm's enthusiasm and his Scottish accent were a bit comic but it would be rude to laugh. He smirked. "Perhaps I should dust off my bass and be Jack Bruce..." "Eh?!" Malcolm's eyes widened. "Do ee play?! Can ee play bass?!" Hugh's eyebrows raised. "Yes. Yes, I can play bass..." Jean laughed. "You are in for it now, Armitage! Malcolm will not take 'non' for an answer!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's A Rainbow, The Rolling Stones 1967
> 
> She comes in colors ev'rywhere  
> She combs her hair  
> She's like a rainbow  
> Coming, colors in the air  
> Oh, everywhere  
> She comes in colors
> 
> She comes in colors ev'rywhere  
> She combs her hair  
> She's like a rainbow  
> Coming, colors in the air  
> Oh, everywhere  
> She comes in colors
> 
> Have you seen her dressed in blue?  
> See the sky in front of you  
> And her face is like a sail  
> Speck of white so fair and pale  
> Have you seen a lady fairer?
> 
> She comes in colors ev'rywhere  
> She combs her hair  
> She's like a rainbow  
> Coming, colors in the air  
> Oh, everywhere  
> She comes in colors
> 
> Have you seen her all in gold?  
> Like a queen in days of old  
> She shoots colors all around  
> Like a sunset going down  
> Have you seen a lady fairer?
> 
> She comes in colors ev'rywhere  
> She combs her hair  
> She's like a rainbow  
> Coming, colors in the air  
> Oh, everywhere  
> She comes in colors
> 
> She's like a rainbow  
> Coming, colors in the air  
> Oh, everywhere  
> She comes in colors
> 
> Was it possible to launch an English girl in the YéYé manner of the French? : YéYé pop, girl singers who had chart hits in Southern Europe in the sixties were often models and movie starlets on top of their music careers. The landscape for native language pop songs was different to the U.K. These girls got big in their native countries because state media had an incentive to place non English music in front of the country's listeners. A firebreak against "too much" English and American music taking over. The term "Yé-Yé" was based on the English beat groups, (She loves you, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!) but was more fluffy and fanciful than the English "beat groups". Hugh wants to try getting a foothold in the oversaturated English market using French techniques, knowing that the advantage of native language nepotism is absent.


	4. The In Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconnaissance

Hugh Armitage considered Truro a poor place to shop, but one can't drag all London with you, nor Paris. What errands he had would be served by this backwater town. It was quaint, though. His uncle was kind enough to ask him to stay when he heard Hugh had returned from France. The English country air was a tonic. He walked down the high street and found the record store. He didn't expect much from it but they would most likely have a copy of 'Valley Of Bread' knocking around. He entered and gave a nod to the guy minding the counter. He was leafing through a Melody Maker newspaper and sized up the fellow in the dark glasses as an upcountry gent. Hugh didn't have to speak, his clothes and demeanor spoke for him. Hugh scanned the store. Record bins lining walls that were a a riot of publicity flats, posters and flyers, all stapled, helter skelter, covering the walls so densely one could not tell what color they were painted. A center aisle had bins facing each side of the store. Hugh was disappointed to see that, even in backwater Truro, listening booths had gone out of favor. One came to flick through the records, maybe buy a music paper -no more no less. He looked under 'V'. He looked under 'P'. He looked to the lad by the till. "Excuse me, do you have Valley Of Bread?" 'Yep', thought the cashier. 'Upcountry so much he don't even know a local band...' "It's filed under 'R'. Resurgam." he said, cheerfully. The bloke looked posh, maybe he would be a big spender. The other shopper was a teen who looked more likely to try and nick a record than buy one.  
Hugh looked under 'R' and found two copies. The one behind the first seemingly less shop worn. Hugh's work in France meant he had no knowledge of Resurgam but he could see the band had been a priority to EMI. The cover was shot by Storm at Hipgnosis. That was the sort of money a label would be loathe to spend on nobodies... Hugh tucked it under his arm and then frowned with disappointment at the anemic offering of magazines. They had Melody Maker, Record Mirror and New Music Express. Some older issues sat behind the current issues. It was a poor showing. He bought the record. As the lad who rang him up slipped the album into a flat, brown paper bag he said, good naturedly, "You don't strike me as the hippie type!" Hugh smiled. "I suppose I'm not. It came recommended by someone who knows the girl..." A young kid who was browsing in the stacks in the corner gave a sarcastic snort. "Dem Poldark's not a fuckin' 'ippie! She went to 'Empel!" Hugh looked over at him. A kid not quite college age in an anorak with badges pinned all over it and his hair unkempt, mussed about like he rose from bed and didn't look in a mirror. What passed for 'punk' in Truro but would be laughably country in London. Hugh's smile was very often not a proper smile. Hugh often smirked. Along with the sunglasses he favored this made him look a bit sinister. The kid lost a bit of his bolshiness as he looked Hugh up and down. ''E looks like a Bond villian!' he thought. Hugh said, "She's a Hempel alumna?" The kid frowned. "Wotsit?" asked the kid. "She went to Hempel?" Hugh asked again. He knew that school. It was where the gentry round here sent their daughters if they eschewed boarding school. "Yeah! She's not a 'ippie! She's one a those rich girls who plays at being a 'ippie, 'er 'usband too! Don't you believe it! They're rich bastards!" Hugh's smirk widened a fraction. "That's interesting. Thank you." The kid was flummoxed. His outburst wasn't meant to be any sort of help and the bloke was creepy looking. "Er, right..." said the kid.

Hugh left the store and paused on the pavement to put the record in his hold all, Hugh's leather shoulder bag. It was reminiscent of a school satchel but too elegant to be mistaken for one. He puzzled over this new information. How would someone like Malcolm McNeil cross paths with a 'Hempy'? Not to be offensive, but the drummer was certainly working class. Why would a working class Scot even meet, let alone play music with a Cornish gentry girl? His uncle mentioned they had a stately round here... Maybe she was the rebellious niece or daughter of a gentry family? Married herself into the Poldarks? As he was sorting out his bag, a woman called out, "Hugh!" He looked up to see Caroline Penvenen, heels clicking against the pavement as she hurried to catch up to him. She wore a red silk dress, knee length, with red tights and shoes. An elegantly spangled silk scarf tied over her hair. What passed for dressed down weekend attire for a woman like Caroline. Hugh in his elegant trench coat and turtleneck shirt, highly polished brogues and crisp, smart looking trousers -clothes that spoke of Europe rather than dowdy England- made them a most exotic looking couple. Birds of Paradise in quaint little Truro. "Cherie! What are you doing in Truro?!" They kissed twice in the continental manner. "What are you doing in England?!" she asked, fondly. "And here of all places?!" Caroline looked him up and down with affection. It was so dull in Cornwall sometimes. She enjoyed a bit of county life but it did lack refinement. An urbane friend was just the right surprise. Her uncle's health was poor and she began to feel depressed over it all. A friend to distract her was fabulous luck. "I'm staying with uncle!" said Hugh. "You look fabulous, darling! Is that one of yours?" Caroline smiled. "Yes, I often skim away some of the cream before they go into the shop. I adore this one, red is so invigorating!" As she spoke her hands undulated in a strange ballet, gracing her garment and presenting it like a fashion atelier mannequin. Her feet turned at three quarters, unbidden, so naturally attuned to fashion ways and means. Hugh kissed his fingertips and tossed it towards her. "Ravissement! I'm so glad to see you! Where is a civilized place to take tea around her?" Caroline linked arms with him as they began to stroll the pavement. "Killewarren! Finish up your shopping and come home with me!" Hugh followed Caroline's driver as she accompanied him in his Citroën. They spoke of Caroline's uncle, in ill health but still as gregarious as ever. Of Hugh's uncle, forever affable and happy to see Hugh again since he rarely left Tregothan, so content with country life. Hugh admired the dense trees and prettiness of the rustic landscape. His birthright as much as London or New York. He rarely made it out to Cornwall but it was, to some degree, the seat of his mother's side of the family. His uncle was the last of the family to remain. Set in his ways, not interested in a more urbane way of life as the Armitages were wont to enjoy. Even his mother took to London like a duck to water and let Cornwall fade into pleasant memory.

Ray Penvenen was surprised to wake from a nap and see a Citroën parked on the gravel drive. And more surprised to hear what had to be a public school educated man in the drawing room. Had Caroline tired of being Christmas cake at last? Having sent Unwin Trevornance packing, Caroline's uncle despaired over her marriage prospects. Perhaps she had irons in the fire after all... He heard their conversation as he approached. "I have a raft of publicity pictures to go through! But I met a drummer who was in an absolute passion over some girl called Demelza Poldark..." There was the clink and clatter of tea paraphernalia, Hugh continued. "Uncle said they have a pile round here somewhere, Trennith?" Ray entered the room. "Trenwith." he said as Hugh stood. They shook hands. "Hello, sir." Ray smiled warmly. "Ah, young Hugh! How is your uncle? I have not seen him since the Hunt Ball!" Hugh inclined his head in a friendly, deferential way. If that was the case, Ray Penvenen had been unwell for some time. "Uncle is well, putting up with me at the moment. I'm at Tregothan this week..." Ray smiled wider and turned to Caroline. "Afternoon, my dear. Had I known you would be home this afternoon with a guest to tea, I'd have arranged better fare..." secretly, Ray was pleased. 'Let Hugh feel at home, no fuss or fawning... Just folks at home...' He thought, if Caroline snagged Hugh, the Penvenens would be linked to the Armitages, the Falmouths AND the Boscawens... "Oh uncle! I hadn't known myself! I ran into Hugh in Truro! Come have tea." He sat and she poured tea for her uncle. Even while ill, Ray made a point of having Jordon Almonds and marzipan chocolates grace the tea table, his only vice. "You mentioned the Poldarks?" Hugh swallowed. "Yes, Demelza Poldark." Ray took a sip of tea, momentarily distracted by the dish of pastel colored almonds. "She isn't of the Trenwith Poldarks. She is Ross Poldark's wife. They are the Nampara Poldarks, the poorer relations." Hugh raised an eyebrow, in the way only an upper class interested party could manage, a leading hint that 'dirt' was forthcoming. Ray continued. "Of course, you are so often in France," Caroline would have a house in Paris...' thought Ray. "The Nampara Poldarks are the black sheep." said Ray. Caroline chuckled. "I've seen them in the papers, now and again. I should think they are a good deal more interesting than the virtuous Trenwith side!" Hugh was intrigued. "Why black sheep?" he asked. Ray gave an accurate, if barbed account of Ross Poldark's notorious father, Ross' acquittal at trial, his scandalous past as a drug addict. Ray spoke around the girl in question, now Poldark's wife, managing to convey the idea that she had been Poldark's underage mistress, installed in his house at a shockingly young age, kept openly for 'what she was' without saying so outright. Hugh was appalled. Caroline smiled apologetically. "One thing Cornwall does well is gossip!" They all laughed. They talked of Caroline's boutique in London, of people's comings and goings, in France, in Rome, in New York. Ray was tickled at the prospect of Caroline having a townhouse in Manhattan as well. "I still have time to think about how to go about things," said Hugh. "Malcolm, the drummer I met is most impressed with her. I might even play bass with them as well as producing..." Caroline clapped her hands in delight. "You mean you would perform too? Not just manage things?!" Hugh smirked. "I just might..." He had warmed to the idea. Dust his bass off and play the rockstar... "You're going to be a pop star!" Teased Caroline. Hugh smiled properly. "Perhaps I am..." Caroline smiled warmly. Hugh smiling a proper smile was a sign he'd made his mind up. "You sound as though you've made up your mind." she smiled. "Well," said Hugh, "We haven't met yet. I'm extending an invitation to a gathering, when I get back to London. If she's all Malcolm says she is, we could make a bit of noise at least! Getting ahead in England is more difficult than France, but I'd like to try."

Hugh, divested of his coat by the butler, entered his uncle's drawing room, still clutching his leather bag. "Hello, Hugh. I thought to send out a search party..." smiled his uncle swirling what was left of his port in his glass. Hugh smiled. "Ha! I ran into Caroline Penvenen in town. We had quite a chat, and tea. Her uncle sends his regards." After a pleasant sip of port his uncle answered, "Ah yes, fine girl, fine girl..." Hugh's uncle raised his glass toward him. "Would you care for some port?" "No thank you, Uncle. I was victualled up to my eyeballs at Killwarren!" They both laughed the amused, throaty laugh of cultured, upper class people. "Did you find the record you were looking for? I know Truro is not up to your standards..." Hugh smirked. "Yes, I'll get to grips with it after dinner."

After dinner, Hugh poured himself a glass of whiskey and retrieved the album. It was released in 1973 but would not look out of place among 1960s releases. A man and a woman in a field with a sky so blue Hugh wondered if it had been doctored. (It had not) The girl, who he assumed was Demelza Poldark had flaming red hair and her face was obscured. Gathering wheat or barley, turned away from the camera's lens. On the back, colored a somewhat menacing fuchsia, she sat on the floor in front of a desk where the husband sat with a stony look on his face. She had her hair over her face as she seemed to be playing with roses along the floor. She had very pretty legs. She was slender but her knees were drawn up in a way that made her thighs very curvy and alluring. Hugh took the plastic wrapper off of the album and opened the gatefold cover. Unlike Malcolm, who just about fell in love at first sight with the girl, Hugh was charmed by the possibilities. She lay on the floor looking into the distance as she held her husband who looked asleep. She might have been a siren, delighted to dream of all the things she was going to do to the sailor she'd found. Hugh enjoyed a brief daydream over the idea. She would drown him, but it would be an exquisitely gorgeous death... Hugh blinked himself back into the present. The record was a standard label, no special graphics, no bells and whistles. He recognized some of the songs as covers. Hugh lived in a world of francophone pop music but growing up in London at the time he did, knew a fair amount of American R&B, rhythm and blues. The folk songs rang no bells for Hugh. That was never an interest of his... Personnel notes suggested that guitars were either her or her husband. That he could not tell who was who was a positive -unless it was a cheat. If it was a vanity project where the husband played everything and gave out it was his wife as well. Those sorts of things did go on. Malcolm said he played with Demelza so it was, most likely, her. Talk at Killewarren made the Poldarks sound ill bred hippies. Talk in the record store made the Poldarks sound like posh pretenders. Hugh could hear that they knew their business musically, whatever their situation was. The music was strong. She had a nice voice too. The phrasings, particularly the a cappella songs, had all that was wonderful about Cornwall in it, tempered by a 'day school' accent. A West Country girl with a hint of breeding. Was she a rich girl, playing at being a village girl? Putting on a country accent but really a Hempel girl? (Hugh was gobsmacked to find out it was the exact reverse) He flipped the record back to side one and played it over again. Malcolm was not wrong. This girl seemed like a winner. That they were on EMI might cause a problem. Hugh was a Warner man. But negotiating her out of another label's contract might be worth it. Many girls were pretty. Many girls could sing. A girl who was gorgeous, could sing AND play guitar like a man was as rare as a white hart stag.

Hugh rubbed his eyes and went back downstairs. His uncle, now relaxing with a newspaper looked up with a smile. "Ah! Have you heard your music?" Hugh sat near him with a recent Du magazine he had brought with him. "Yes, it was very encouraging." His uncle frowned. "I had heard the Chynoweth girl played the harp. We're you thinking of exploring a classical recording?" Hugh raised his eyebrows, "Mama spoke of the Chynoweths, now and again. Is Demelza Poldark a Chynoweth?" Hugh watched his uncle's mouth fall open. "You mean to work with the NAMPARA Poldarks?!" Hugh nodded. Having heard Ray Penvenen's recounting of them, Hugh was interested to see his uncle certainly shared the opinion that the Nampara Poldarks were scandalous. His uncle pursed his lips. "Is that wise, Hugh? However talented they could be they are..." His uncle struggled to phrase his comment without being rude. "Well... They are said to be somewhat... feral... Not like the Trenwith side at all. I should think you would want to guard your reputation! Getting mixed up with them might be unwise." Hugh smiled. "I can see I've shocked you but, yes. The girl in any case." His uncle looked at him for a time. "Well," he smiled, uneasiness in that smile. "I expect you know your business, these music people are so often eccentric... I wish you well of it, my boy." They settled with their favored reading material, in quiet companionship, before retiring to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "In" Crowd, Dobie Grey 1964
> 
> I'm in with the in crowd  
> I go where the in crowd goes  
> I'm in with the in crowd  
> And I know what the in crowd knows  
> Any time of the year, don't you hear?  
> Dressin' fine, makin' time  
> We breeze up and down the street  
> We get respect from the people we meet  
> They make way day or night  
> They know the in crowd is out of sight  
> I'm in with the in crowd  
> I know every latest dance  
> When you're in with the in crowd  
> It's easy to find romance  
> At a spot where the beat's really hot  
> Oh, if it's square, we ain't there  
> We make every minute count  
> Our share is always the biggest amount  
> Other guys imitate us  
> But the original's still the greatest  
> We got our own way of walkin'  
> We got our own way of talkin', yeah  
> Anytime of the year, don't you hear?  
> Spendin' cash, talkin' trash  
> Girl, I'll show you a real good time  
> Come on with me and leave your troubles behind  
> I don't care where you've been  
> You ain't been nowhere till you've been in  
> With the in crowd, yeah  
> Oh, with the in crowd (yeah, yeah, yeah)  
> We got our own way of walkin', yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah)  
> We got our own way of talkin' (yeah, yeah, yeah)  
> In the in crowd
> 
> nick a record: to steal it
> 
> His uncle mentioned they had a stately round here...: Hugh's uncle thinks 'Trenwith Poldarks' when Hugh mentions the name. A 'stately'(also 'a pile') is slang for a grand house, a 'stately home' 
> 
> Ravissement: enchanting
> 
> Had Caroline tired of being Christmas cake at last?: nobody needs a Christmas cake on December 26th. Ray feels she will be left behind in the marriage market, that eligible men will pass her over for younger women, by not getting married 'in her prime'


	5. Have A Cigar (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soiree
> 
> Summer 1977

Ross wore a black button down shirt, under which a hint of black tee shirt could be seen at the neck, and black jeans. His newest boots were black, cuffed at the top but not quite equestrian. The other men here wore the standard uniform of a 'dressed down' business executive, a light colored button down shirt alone or under a cashmere sweater vest, trousers that were nondescript but expensive and shoes that were boring but cost the earth. Ross was satisfied he would not be mistaken for an executive as he entered Hugh Armitage's London soiree with his wife in his arm. Demelza wore a fashionable, nostalgic style frock to meet Malcolm and this fellow, Hugh, at the producer's family home in London. Malcolm insisted that she and Ross attend. "Hugh could produce us! You should come anyway, it'll be a laugh! Please say you'll come!" It was a long, v neck, flowered cotton lawn gown, light blue and green tones, with a wide, cream colored, lace panel down the front like an apron and a deep frilled hem of the same floral print as the rest of the dress. The light blue sash that tied at the back gave it a slinky look that kept her from looking too much like a Georgian milkmaid. Her hair was tamed with a pale blue, satin Alice band, her red curls surrounded her head like a lion's mane, her forehead kept free of stray curls. She wore her strapy silver sandals with sheer white tights. Though her shoes were silver she still wore her gold necklace, a letter 'D' on a fine gold chain. She was relieved to fit right in with many of the other women at the party, the wives and girlfriends of these businessmen. That country look was still all the rage. Dem so often wore simple, stretchy mini dresses, peasant blouses from nearly every country on the globe, casual skirts -long, short and some of them quite old, years old- she was a little out of practice, dressing to go out. She and Ross had been skint for so long she hadn't had reason to attend many parties or money to flig herself up for a long while. After many hard times, she and Ross were on firmer ground, financially, emotionally. She had been separated from Ross after he'd committed adultery and fell back into substance abuse after a string of previous, tragic events. Their young daughter died a crib death, Ross and Demelza watched their money evaporate as Ross defended himself against a trumped up drugs charge. Their relationship became strained as the death of Ross' cousin, Francis, brought Ross back into more frequent contact with Elizabeth. Elizabeth was Francis' widow but had also been Ross' first love, a disappointed love he had never quite recovered from, never got over. Sleeping with Elizabeth was the straw that broke Demelza's back, but she still wanted to mend things, if it was possible. If Ross got clean and stopped neglecting her and their son, Jeremy, she promised to return. While she lived apart from Ross in their house in London, she met Blue. Malcolm McNeil was a drummer, knocking about London. He had been a bit at loose ends having returned to the U.K. after enjoying work as a session player in New York. They met at a party when she was newly arrived in the city and very much like a broken doll, still sad in her troubles and a bit lost. Malcolm became a friend almost at once. He showed her sympathy. He became her dog, Garrick's, dogwalker, swore blind he was not trying to chat her up and visited her at her house. In a short time, he supported Jeremy's nanny, Jinny, by looking after Jeremy on Saturdays. He persuaded Demelza to play guitar and jam with him at the rehearsal room where he kept his drums. They soon learned that, not only were they impressed by each other's talent, they really did play well together. Malcolm, taken with Demelza's red hair, nicknamed her 'Red'. After a time, she began calling him 'Blue'. It had gotten to the point where they ceased to use their real names, they rarely ever thought to use their given names. They were Red and Blue and that was that.

  
Blue came struggling through the crowd of milling about attendees. Blue, Ross and Demelza were surrounded by executive and corporate music label types. It was a very straight party with no other musicians. "Red!" Demelza skipped forward and giggled herself into a hug with the gangly Scot, releasing the other to admire each other, enjoy being reunited and chatter at arms length. He wore blue jeans, a Liberty print shirt that was brown from afar but dense with strange squiggles of blue and green on it and thick soled, black work shoes. Malcolm was a stereotypical, hyperactive drummer with a friendly demeanor and a Scottish accent that made him quite a character. "Hello, Blue!" smiled Dem. "How are the bairns, lass?" asked Malcolm. "They are well, they're missing their 'Uncle Blue..." Ross looked on, letting them greet each other and catch up before following Dem. Malcolm was a good friend to his wife, to his children and always greeted and interacted with him in a spirit of friendship. Malcolm was, ostensibly, harmless. But he was so often clingy with Dem, his arm around her, hugging each other, she was just as likely to initiate it, Ross never quite trusted that Malcolm wasn't playing some sort of long game to get under Dem's defences. Ross came alongside them. "Hello, Ross!" Malcolm shook his hand. He sensed Ross was a bit leery of him, took it in stride. 'I should think I would be the same in his shoes, Red's a looker!' thought Malcolm. "Hello, Malcolm." Ross never called Malcolm 'Blue'. He thought their nicknames were extremely silly. "I'll introduce ee to Hugh, I'm sure you'll get on..." Malcolm, being working class, felt Ross and Hugh were more alike, the same social class and would have interests in common. In this, he was incorrect. Ross' rebellious streak made him a bit antagonistic to others in the upper class. And being a musician also meant Ross felt a different breed to the executive types that outnumbered them tonight. Blue led Red by the hand through the room with Ross following and made their way towards their host and potential collaborator.

Hugh Armitage was listening intently to an older, heavy set man discussing song royalties. Their host was elegantly attired in dark trousers and a pale blue shirt, crisp and exact. The lack of a tie accentuated how well tailored the clothes were. Ross smirked. Hugh looked like the wealthy sort who bought a dozen of an expensive item at once. His modest looking outfit probably cost ten times what both he and Dem were wearing combined. Hugh turned to see Malcolm barreling towards him and told the man he was speaking to, "Hold that thought, James. Here comes those musicians I mentioned." James looked over. "Oh! That's Ross Poldark!" Hugh nodded. "Yes, his wife is a guitarist. I may work with her and Malcolm, the drummer." "In France?!" James raised his eyebrows. "No," smirked Hugh. "I thought to give Britain a try, this time round..." "Really...?" James was intrigued. Hugh called out, "Ah, Malcolm! I see you found your friends!" Blue smiled. "Hugh, I'd like you t'meet Demelza Poldark an' 'er 'usband, Ross." Hugh shook Demelza's hand and then, in a sudden impulse, kissed the back of her hand. "Hello, Demelza, Malcolm has told me a great deal about you." "Hello, Hugh. I'm pleased to meet you." she said, fascinated by Hugh's kiss on the hand. Hugh shook Ross' hand and smiled. "Pleased to meet you, Ross." "Likewise." said Ross. Malcolm, impatient with these niceties said, "Hugh was sayin' we might make an album!" Demelza laughed. "You'd think Blue had everything set up to record right now!" They all laughed, but Dem was charmed by Malcolm's enthusiasm. They played well together, she knew he was keen to work with her. It was a mutual feeling. "Please enjoy yourselves. I must play host, but I'd like to have a proper chat later." Hugh went off to see to his guests. Dem exchanged a brief kiss with Ross and then wandered off with Malcolm to mingle with the other guests in this very grand house. Ross smiled after them, amused to watch them explore the party in a more extroverted manner than he would. He went in search of a drink and spoke with politeness to this one, to that one, to these corporate types who cracked apart the bones of rock and roll, extracted the marrow and lived off of the profits. The various executive class types here amused Ross, he felt an indifference to their self importance but conducted himself with politeness. In truth, no matter how talented a musician could be, their fortunes stood or fell with men like these. Hugh was on the younger side of these people but clearly was in the high flyer category. Ross watched Hugh. Listening to the man he was talking to earlier. The portly man whispered something that made Hugh recoil and stare in disbelief. They spoke at close range, the man whispering more explanation. They walked off, still talking. Ross glowered. Would the gossip over Ross and Dem ever stop? Aren't people bored of tittle tattle over their age difference? A few minutes later, Hugh sought Ross out. "Oh, Ross?" Hugh leaned in, whispering. Ross could smell whisky on his breath. "I was speaking to a colleague of mine a bit ago..." Ross braced himself for lurid gossip about there being ten years difference in their ages, the perpetual wagging tongues that insisted Ross slept with Dem underage. He'd seen Hugh surprised by what ever that man said. "I had to ask," Hugh continued, "He said he had seen Demelza play guitar at Blaises!" Here his voice went up in pitch, in disbelief. Blaises Club was defunct now but it was a storied, famous club. Top players in the sixties had not only performed there, they socialized as well. Her young age as well as the prestige of that club made it sound improbable. Ross felt relief that, for once, the gossip was not poisonous. He stepped back a bit and smiled at the memory. He spoke plain, rather than continue to whisper. "Yes, that's true, though it was informal, Christmas time silliness, really." Hugh was intrigued as Ross continued. "We'd gone to see Jimi Hendrix but earlier in the night, I suppose I bragged about her too much. She played to prove I wasn't fibbing..." He chuckled. Hugh was gobsmacked. "Did Hendrix see her play?!" Ross chuckled more. "Oh no, no. This was early in the night, but Beck did..." Hugh's eyebrows raised and his voice went higher again. "Jeff Beck?!" "Yes," said Ross, amused at Hugh's reaction. Ross was a loner, for the most part, but he had moved in the same circles as 'all the names you know' in his Modernist days of the early sixties. Ross rubbed shoulders and even played among many of the musicians who became world famous and his own band, Resurgam, played Blaises too. "Yes, I had put Dem in the position of having to prove she was as good as I said," Ross fidgeted with his empty glass in his fingers. He allowed himself two drinks at this sort of occasion. Hold your drink... Ross smiled with pride. "She slayed them." Hugh looked excited and surprised. "So, do you think she wants to perform?" Ross gave a small shrug. "I haven't discussed it with her..." Ross could see wheels turning in the producer's mind. Ross noticed that Hugh's smile was not a proper smile. Hugh smirked as if that should be normal. There was a haughtiness in it. He was polite, pleasant enough but the smirk made Ross ill at ease. "Thank you, Ross," said Hugh, struggling not to be lost in thought. "That was a story I needed to hear!" They shook hands again as parted. Ross watched Hugh walk forward, pulled aside by a different guest a few feet away. They greeted each other warmly and had rapid conversation in French. At ease with the language like a native. At ease and relaxed among the music corporate elite. 'King of his castle...' thought Ross.

The side board was festooned with elegant pastries and two large, ornate samovars. In the center was a large silver tray heaped with little pastel colored cakes. Dem stood over them, struck with wonder. "Those are macaron." She turned to see their host, Hugh. He had a smirk on his face rather than a smile. "Little meringues sandwiched together." "They're that pretty! They are almost too pretty to eat!" said Demelza. "Ha! They are different flavors as well. Green is pistachio, blue is vanilla..." "Which one's pink?!" asked Dem. "Pink is rose flavor." answered Hugh. He found Demelza very charming. Her dress was similar to other ladies in attendance tonight but she was the only one who looked ethereal. 'She's like a fairy...' thought Hugh. Dem's smile widened. "It tastes of flowers?!" "Yes," said Hugh. "You should certainly try one of you haven't had a rose flavored sweet, they're quite good! As Demelza filled her small Limoges plate from the buffet she ducked her chin a little. "Now you'll think I'm greedy..." Hugh smiled, warmly. There was a marked difference between his smirk and his smile. "It's not greed to take what you want, if your desires are pure." He inclined his head to take his leave of her and circulate among the other guests. 'He seems nice...' she thought. She searched the room for Ross and chuckled, quietly. She had to save Ross from Blue's enthusiasm. She could see him talking off Ross' ear and the look of resignation on Ross' face as he listened. "Did you see all the sweets, Blue?" He turned, his eyes widened in interest at her plate of desserts. "No. What's that, then? They look delicious!" Malcolm peered at the macarons as if they were some sort of scientific specimens. "Mac arr ron," said Dem, trying to say it as Hugh had done. "The pink ones taste like roses!" He drew his lips tightly together, in distaste. That did not sound nice. "Ugh, I dunno about that! 'Ere, give us a bite!" Dem laughed, shielding her plate with her free hand, in merriment. "No, Blue! You'll have to get your own!" She turned to see the buffet table swarmed with people. "Judas! I'd get in there now before there's nothing left!" she smiled. Malcolm, led by his sweet tooth, went to investigate. Ross sighed. "Hello, my love. You're going to have to stop adopting strays if you aren't going to sufficiently tame them..." She rolled her eyes as she grinned. "Blue's not a stray. Blue's lovely." Ross harrumphed. "What do you think of Hugh?" she asked, quietly. "He seems alright. He's continental enough you almost forget he is English." mused Ross. "Blue said he might even play bass, not just run things..." Ross cut her off. "Yes, I've had an earful of Malcolm's schemes just now. They both seem committed to this." Ross smiled as he took a green macaron from the plate Dem offered. He paused before tasting it. "Do you want to join with them?" he asked. "Yes, I think I do. I used to jam with Blue when I was in London, he's that good!" They searched for something else to say. They had mended their fences since but they never liked to dwell on the time they were separated. "These are delicious!" said Ross as he finished his macaron in two bites. Demelza thought of Hugh's comment. 'It's not greed if your desires are pure...' Clowance was still quite young but perhaps it could be made to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have A Cigar, Pink Floyd 1975
> 
> Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar,  
> You're gonna go far,  
> You're gonna fly high,  
> You're never gonna die,  
> You're gonna make it if you try,  
> They're gonna love you.  
> I've always had a deep respect and I mean that most sincere;  
> The band is just fantastic, that is really what I think,  
> Oh, by the way, which one's Pink?  
> And did we tell you the name of the game, boy?  
> We call it "Riding The Gravy Train".  
> We're just knocked out.  
> We heard about the sell out.  
> You're gonna get an album out,  
> You owe it to the people.  
> We're so happy we can hardly count.  
> Everybody else is just green,  
> Have you seen the chart?  
> It's a hell of a start,  
> It could be made into a monster,  
> If we all pull together as a team.  
> And did we tell you the name of the game, boy?  
> We call it "Riding The Gravy Train".
> 
> Red's a looker: beautiful
> 
> samovar: a highly decorated tea urn
> 
> Soiree: an evening party or social gathering
> 
> Dem playing at Blaises Club is the chapter, Hazy Shade Of Winter in Little Wing


	6. Have A Cigar (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Positioning

A 1969 Citroën DS pulled up to the house and it's occupants disembarked to walk to the front door. "What on earth are you doing to that dog, Malcolm?" Malcolm, to Hugh's eye, was just about beating a scruffy looking dog in the yard. "Garrick don't like to be petted, 'e likes a good wack on the flanks, don't ya boy?!" As if to answer 'yes', Garrick barked up at Malcolm. "'Ave a go, Hugh! 'E likes it, 'onest!" Hugh looked from one to the other. He let Garrick sniff his hand. "I'll leave it to you, Malcolm. I don't want to be seen to be abusing their dog!" Hugh had not been to Nampara before and found it quaint. Malcolm rang the bell. Prudie answered the door. In front of her stood Malcolm, the Scottish bloke she had already met and a tall, sinister looking man in dark sunglasses and a black trench coat. "Mornin', Ma'am!" said Malcolm. "G'mornin', lad..." said Prudie, with a smile, as she let them in. Malcolm opened his mouth, to introduce Prudie to Hugh but Hugh said, "Good morning, Madame." Prudie could see her reflection in the dark black lenses of the man's glasses. She could see two Prudies say, "Mornin', sir..." Malcolm said, "Mrs. Paynter, this is Mr. Armitage..." she nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Paynter." Dem could be heard approaching with Clowance. "Likewise, sir." said Prudie, her smile a bit frozen on her face. Unlike Malcolm, who was an established friend of the family, this gentleman seemed serious, all business. They turned to see Demelza and her daughter. "Thank you, Prudie!" said Dem. Prudie nodded and returned to the kitchen. 'Tha Mr. Armitage looks like one o them criminal masterminds on the telly... There blows an ill wind...' thought Prudie.

Demelza was walking towards them, holding Clowance's hand. Clowance knew Malcolm, Uncle Blue, but became shy in front of Hugh. Dem leaned over Clowance to reassure her that Hugh was nice. Her hair fell forward in glorious curls, her smile was warm and her eyes sparkled with mirth, trying to persuade her daughter to keep walking. Hugh was enchanted. 'I'm a fool if I don't get her modelling...' he thought. Malcolm walked to Clowance and offered his hand for her to hold, which she did with a smile. "'Ello Clowance!" She smiled up at him, "Boo!" Dem smiled at Hugh. "Hello Mr. Armitage, welcome to Nampara!" He removed his glasses. "Thank you. Do please call me 'Hugh'" She nodded. "Welcome, Hugh. Come through..." Hugh followed Demelza and Malcolm walking Clowance by the hand into the parlor. Demelza put her daughter on her lap and Clowance looked up at her mother. They smiled at each other. "My goodness, Demelza! You look like a matryoshka doll!" said Hugh. "Mati-wa?" Malcolm couldn't repeat the word. "What's that when it's at 'ome, Hugh?" Hugh smiled. "It's a little wooden doll they make in Russia. They are hollow inside. You open one and there's a smaller, identical doll inside." He turned to admire them again. "You and your daughter smile just alike!" Charmed by the compliment, Demelza smiled even wider. Ross and Jeremy entered. "Uncle Blue!" Malcolm leaned down to give Jeremy a hug. "'Ello, Jer! 'Ow are you, laddie?" "Good!" said Jeremy. "Can we play?" "We will do, lad. But we 'ave t'speak with your mam first." Blue turned to say hello to Ross as Hugh had finished shaking Ross' hand. "Alright, Ross?" Ross smiled. "Hello, Malcolm." Jeremy turned to Hugh. "Hello, sir." said Jeremy. "Hello, Mr. Poldark... " Hugh leaned forward and they shook hands. Jeremy grinned, amused to be greeted by the man as if, he too, was a grown up. Hugh stood up and spoke broadly. "I have a better idea!" said Hugh. "Why don't we go to this storied Nampara Cove. Malcolm tells me it is breathtaking. It makes better sense to have the children play now than wait for us to finish. And besides, it will give me a chance to talk to Ross properly, I have not had the pleasure." Hugh was always thinking a few steps ahead. If Demelza and Malcolm were frolicking with the children, he could speak with Ross privately and then the children would be tired out when they returned to the house and Demelza could talk to him with her undivided attention. Ross inclined his head as if to agree. He looked at Hugh's shoes. They were highly polished black brogues. "I don't think you want to wear those on the beach, Hugh..." Hugh looked at his own feet. "Ha! Yes." grinned Hugh. "Malcolm did warn me. I have some canvas shoes in the car." Hugh went to retrieve his beach shoes. The Poldarks went about gathering spades and buckets and towels. Ross looked out the window to see what sort of car Hugh had and rolled his eyes. Hugh was management to the bone. Ross wondered if he could even play bass. Hugh returned with his black canvas plimsolls. Malcolm rolled up his trouser legs as did Ross. Demelza changed into jeans that were cut off at the knees.

  
It was overcast but there was no threat of rain. It was fortunate, thought Ross. Hugh was pale enough to make Malcolm and Demelza look positively ruddy in comparison. Full sun might have turned him red as a lobster at once. Red and Blue walked the children to the beach and Ross walked with Hugh up on the dunes. Each would deny that they were sizing each other up but, of course, they were both doing just that. "Your children are adorable, Ross." "Thank you." said Ross. They walked a little further. In the distance, they could see Malcolm and Demelza playing near the water's edge with the children. That far away, joining in the fun, they looked somewhat like children themselves. "Malcolm thinks very highly of Demelza's talent..." said Hugh. "Yes," said Ross. "They played together informally and both admire each other." Hugh asked, "You are with EMI?" Ross gave a sidelong glance. "Yes." Ross could see the management horsetrader rear its head in Hugh, just then. "I'm in deep with Warner's, myself. Through WEA. I've been in France for some time." Hugh wore dark glasses, even when there was no sun and it served to annoy Ross. "Is Demelza contractually obligated to EMI? I know you had that record together." "No." said Ross. "Oh?!" Hugh was surprised. EMI was not that much different to Warner. It was odd to have one album. There was usually a provision for a follow up. Ross intuited Hugh's question. "Valley of Bread was a Resurgam album. Technically, it fulfilled the fourth album of my contract." Hugh frowned. "But Demelza was credited, surely she had a deal of her own?" Ross stepped over an uneven portion of ground in front of him. "No. We worked on the album's tracks together and it was released as a Resurgam title." Ross went silent. 'We made that album and made love and made Julia and had such a golden summer...' thought Ross. "Sorry?" Ross pulled himself out of his own thoughts. Hugh had said something. "Nothing." said Hugh. Hugh had exclaimed, 'Merde!', but knew it would be too provoking to repeat it. Ross' attitude to the album and Demelza's participation struck Hugh as feckless. "Well, if Demelza agrees, we shall sign with Warner. I like to secure my ladies four albums, contractually." Ross' eyebrows raised. "Your ladies?" Ross didn't like the sound of that. Hugh spoke. "I have worked with a handful of talented women and I try to make sure they have a chance to enter the public's imagination. A multi album deal gives enough room to release singles that can then be slotted into the albums later. That way people hear them more frequently and they don't have to pin their hopes on a long player. France is a little different to England. They like to have a steady stream of french language songs to dilute all the popular English hits. In some ways, TV and magazines are more important than radio there." Hugh took care to step over a scrub of grass that threatened to trip him. "I'm an indoor sort of person..." he joked. Ross walked along in silence. Hugh was not an unpleasant person but Ross had his hackles up all the same. In the same way Malcolm had a constant patter, everyone a 'mate' or a 'love' within minutes of meeting, Hugh had the sort of aristo, upcountry, positivity that always rubbed Ross the wrong way. Advertising men had it too. Everything was the best of the worst, extremes of emotion like a performance with a shadow of judgement over everything as well. Hugh's pragmatism about preferring singles to albums, something Ross could admit was simple plain dealing, still made him annoyed. "Perhaps we should join the others" said Hugh. Jeremy, Clowance, Malcolm and Demelza were making sand castles and lumpy mountains around them. Ross and Hugh walked towards them and Jeremy ran to meet Ross as Clowance tried her best to keep up behind him. "Papa! My castle has a gun turret!" "Does it?" Ross came to stand by a mushed pile sand with a twig pushed into it's side which did, indeed, look like a gun turret. "'E did that all by 'imself!" said Malcolm, proudly. Ross bent down to pick up Clowance, who was sulking because her short legs had not kept up with her brother. "And what did you build, my dear?" asked Ross. Clowance pointed to the gouged and hand print covered lumps of sand that served as her castle. "Very good work, Clowance." smiled Ross, noticing that she seemed ill at ease with Hugh. "Have you ever played Duck Duck Goose, Clowance?" asked Hugh. Hugh's smirk became a very tender smile. He took off his glasses as well. Clowance looked at him quietly and shook her head 'no'. "I think it is a game you might like."

Back at the house, Demelza disappeared for a bit to give the children a wash and put Clowance down for a nap. Clowance enjoyed playing Duck Duck Goose as it was tailored by the rest of the participants to let her win convincingly. She came back to the house feeling at least as fleet of foot as Jeremy, a feeling that hadn't happened before. The men waited in the parlor and Jeremy sat on the floor and played with an assortment of toy cars. Malcolm sat on the floor and joined in with him as they waited for Demelza's return. After a chat in the parlor, Hugh and Malcolm took their leave. Malcolm hugged Jeremy and Clowance and said, cheerfully, "When we work with your mam, maybe we'll all be in London again!" Ross blanched, inwardly. He was not enthused about that. Jeremy piped up, "And have fish and chips!" Malcolm laughed. "Aye! Fish n'chips for all! That's a promise!" Hugh shook Ross' hand, shook Jeremy's hand and then knelt to take Clowance's fingers, gently, and kissed her hand as she clung to Demelza's leg. Clowance was still not quite sure about this strange visitor but she could admit he had done her a good turn. She blinked at him with a happy, shy look and waved goodbye. Hugh laughed a quiet chuckle. "Victory! Au revoir, demoiselle." he cooed, fondly. He stood and kissed Demelza's hand. Hugh looked into her eyes once more and Dem blushed a little. "We shall talk soon!" he assured her. As they turned to go, Malcolm giving Garrick a last goodbye, wacking him on the flanks as the dog barked his appreciation, the Poldarks stood by the door to wave. Hugh called out to Ross, walking backwards to his car, "You are a fortunate man, Ross! I used to believe that God did not repeat his masterpieces, but the two beauties of Nampara have changed my mind!" They got in the car and waved once more before Hugh pulled away. Ross waved but he wanted to roll his eyes until they fell out of his head. Must everything out of Hugh's mouth sound like an 18th century romance novel?

The night was quiet in Nampara. They had their supper and the children were put to bed. Dem was in the parlor as Ross brought her a small glass of port and he sat with a brandy. He watched her. She was deep in thought. Probably running through the events of the day. Ross mused over the afternoon as well. Once Clowance was down for her nap and Jeremy borne away by Prudie, Hugh spoke to Demelza with little participation from Ross or Malcolm. He continued to ask pointed questions about their 'Valley Of Bread' album. Both Dem and Ross could see that Hugh was very judgemental about the informality of the project. Hugh who was, first and foremost, management and certainly born with a silver spoon in his mouth, had little sympathy for the way Ross had conducted things. To Hugh's mind, Ross should have taken an interest in providing Dem a more formal arrangement than what transpired. That Ross and Dem were simply two musicians enjoying the first flowering of their love would not hold weight in Hugh's eyes, that was clear. They had not had true intentions for the session, playing with Ned and Dwight, having studio time allotted to Resurgam and using it in a spirit of fun. Their only defense of themselves remained unsaid. The tracks from their informal honeymoon session had saved Resurgam's contractual obligations when the band fell apart after their disastrous tour. Their roadie, Mark Daniel, strangled his wife, Keren, when he found out she was having an affair with Dwight. Neither Ross nor Dem wanted to go into deeper explanation about that time. Hugh avoided talk of money, mercifully. The Poldarks would have been embarrassed to admit how dire their finances were in those days. Then Hugh asked what guitar she used. When she answered an acoustic Gibson twelve string, Hugh smiled and said that he meant electric. When Dem mentioned that she did not have an electric guitar of her own, simply availed herself of Ross' Fenders, both Hugh and Malcolm's eyebrows raised, scandalized. "Well, that surely must be rectified." Hugh sniffed, clearly disapproving of Ross. Ross felt as if he might as well have 'hippie halfwit' branded across his forehead as Hugh's eyes flicked to Ross, briefly, before taking a deep look into Demelza's eyes. At the point where his silence might have become awkward, Hugh said, "Yes, leave it to me..." Ross scoffed as he took another sip of brandy. What did Hugh know? One mercy, Ross supposed, is not having to worry about Dem in the hands of such a square producer and a daffy drummer. The project would be good for her and not be too disruptive for the children. It did make sense that they would return to the London flat. But perhaps they would all have cause to stay. Ross could be in London, doing work of his own. Maybe he and Dem would become the sort of working couple a person like Hugh Armitage would approve of. A stuffy executive like Hugh couldn't know what it was like, to spend the days playing music and the nights clubbing. To enjoy their honeymoon in London, and continuing it at Nampara. How they'd been each other's completely and lived in an Eden of their own. Days and days of fine, sunny weather, making love incessantly. They would spend their evenings playing acoustic guitar, sometimes under the stars not just in the house. He'd bought Dem her Gibson the way another man might have chosen a diamond ring. The inlayed mother of pearl scrolled leaves and flowers glimmered on the fretboard. It was perfect for her. It was vastly expensive but Ross could chose no other. When he gave it to her, Dem's eyes lit from within, from love, from the excitement of knowing it was for her very own. What could Armitage know about that? Ross looked at Dem, sipping her port with unseeing eyes. She was deep in thought. 'When had we stopped?' wondered Ross. 'When did playing together in the evenings end?' After Julia was born, he supposed. Lost in the whirlwind of two new parents, enchanted with their newborn. But why hadn't they resumed? Again, Ross felt shame over the mistakes he made. Would that earlier Ross, in '67, in '68, have recognized or believed the sorrow and destructive decisions he made and lived through later? Julia snatched away in death, their hard times, his calamitous behavior after Francis died and the separation Demelza insisted upon as he committed adultery and fell back into old habits. Having to come to terms about Valentine. They had come though that time. They had Clowance and found their way back to each other. She had the heart to forgive him. Was he still earning that trust? Ross set down his glass. Bring back that love, keep it close, no slipping back.

"Dem?"

"Ummm? " she looked up. "Sorry, Ross. I was miles away." Ross smiled at her. 

"Shall we play a song together?" asked Ross, standing to retrieve the guitars from their stands.

Dem's eyes widened as her distracted smile became a happy grin. Playing guitar together in the evenings was a habit they had fallen out of. "Yes, Ross! Let's do that!" Sitting with their acoustic guitars they traded lines, they played together, they took turns. They inched closer and closer to each other on the sofa as the songs gave way to the next and the next. At length they decided to go to bed and Ross reverently kissed her lips.

"Ross?"

Demelza's heart swelled three sizes bigger as they looked into each other's eyes.

"I love you, Dem."

They carried their love through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have A Cigar, Pink Floyd 1975
> 
> Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar,  
> You're gonna go far,  
> You're gonna fly high,  
> You're never gonna die,  
> You're gonna make it if you try,  
> They're gonna love you.  
> I've always had a deep respect and I mean that most sincere;  
> The band is just fantastic, that is really what I think,  
> Oh, by the way, which one's Pink?  
> And did we tell you the name of the game, boy?  
> We call it "Riding The Gravy Train".  
> We're just knocked out.  
> We heard about the sell out.  
> You're gonna get an album out,  
> You owe it to the people.  
> We're so happy we can hardly count.  
> Everybody else is just green,  
> Have you seen the chart?  
> It's a hell of a start,  
> It could be made into a monster,  
> If we all pull together as a team.  
> And did we tell you the name of the game, boy?  
> We call it "Riding The Gravy Train".
> 
> The "DS" in Citroën DS was an intentional pun by the automotive company. When spoken it sounds like "déesse", French for 'goddess'
> 
> WEA stands for "Warner, Elektra, Atlantic" WEA international was the umbrella of their non U.S. entities. 
> 
> merde: shit
> 
> Hugh's attitudes, stemming from his career as a producer, in management, have given him an incorrect opinion of Ross' behavior over the 'Valley Of Bread' album. Because the Poldarks declined to give him more explanation, Hugh's opinion of Ross builds upon this shaky foundation. Ross and Hugh meet under misunderstandings and it does not improve as the story goes forward. Hugh's narrative of how he perceives Ross and 'Valley of Bread" is in the chapter, Stepping Out in "New Career In a New Town" (written so early, so long ago, Blue does not have his dialect established yet). The honeymoon sessions themselves are mentioned, briefly, in chapter 4, Crystal Ship/Summer In The City in "Why Don't We Do It In The Road?". The difficult period of time around 'Valley Of Bread' is recounted in "Gimme Shelter".


	7. It's Different For Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men don't know, but the little girls understand

"Good morning, Jill." said Hugh as he came through the door. "Good morning, Mr. Armitage." She looked up from her typing. The boss was not idle, even as he had not secured his muse. Queries, for dance instructors, for instrument advertising, sponsorship deals, U.S. work visa requirements... Jill went from task to task, laying a groundwork that seemed to account for just about everything except the artist who would benefit from it all. "Jill...?" Hugh realized the most useful point of view as to the nature of the Poldarks was right in front of him. Jill was an avid consumer of ladies magazines. She may well have cut her teeth in the sort of girl magazines that would give Hugh a better idea of this couple. He'd heard local gossip and the attitudes of the corporate music types. He had yet to hear the opinion of an ordinary woman, a punter so to speak. "Yes, sir?" She blinked up at him and arranged her lacquered fingernails on the desk edge in front of her rather than the typewriter keys. She was at the ready, to answer what the boss needed to know. Hugh considered her so useful already, he'd already decided to give her a piece of jewelry at Christmas, not just the Warner bonus. She had her attitudes shaped by working in finance and the 'no nonsense' way she went about her tasks was invigorating. Hugh felt she had things well in hand and didn't have to micromanage her on top of her understanding so many of his cultural references. She was a diamond... "What do you know about the Poldarks?" Hugh was interested to see her smile at once. "You mean Ross n' Dem?!" Hugh smirked. Jill was learning the subtleties of Mr. Armitage's smirk. It could be different depending on how he felt. It was a useful signal since he so often had his eyes obscured by sunglasses. He was amused now, it seemed. "Yes!" he said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of him, by the coat rack. "Tell me about, 'Ross n' Dem'." Jill, launched into a teen magazine catechism of the Poldarks that Hugh found fascinating. All that was negative in their Cornwall notoriety, all that was scandalous in the coy whispers and asides of his management class peers, all rearranged into a tale that rivaled a romance novel. Jill's smile widened as she said. "Oh! They're smashing, Mr. Armitage! Dem's dad was so desperate for someone to 'elp 'is daughter..." Hugh remained impassive looking but noted that Jill was excited enough about the Poldarks to forget to 'guard her aytch'. Jill, as a Cockney, was careful to remember to pronounce 'h' in her speech, a tactical way of being her form of professional. That she should gush over the Poldarks to the point of slipping in that way was of interest. "Dem was good at music and 'e being a miner, couldn't afford lessons and that," here, she remembered herself and brought her speech back to form. "Ahem. So HE, asked Ross Poldark to come see his girl, and Ross," again Hugh was struck at the receptionist's ease in calling them by their first names. "Ross had his own band, Resurgam, and being local like, the town Dem came from were nearby, her dad was, like, 'Can you help m'girl 'cause I haven't the money t'see her looked after proper?'. So Ross met Dem and was so impressed by her agreed to be Dem's guardian! Sent her to a posh school and made sure she got proper music lessons!" Hugh had only heard this situation explained as a heroin addict bringing a minor into his house for sex. The industry talk and Caroline's uncle, even his own uncle's oblique suggestion that the Nampara Poldarks were "feral" and Hugh rethink dealing with them, made it plain that was how the land lay. The idea that Ross was sponsoring her education and supporting her musical talent was an entirely new story. Jill, still in a reverie of romantic pop history, continued. "So, Dem was thirteen and lived in his house and she grew up stayed and then, when she was sixteen, they fell in love and got married!" Jill scrunched her eyes briefly, happy to imagine being schoolgirl so irresistible a rock star would marry her. "They got married in London! It made all the papers..." Hugh's chin raised a fraction. "When was that? That they were in the papers?" Jill looked at the ceiling, calculating. "Um... summertime...nineteeeeeen, uh... Sixty-eight! Sixty-eight it was! She had a Biba dress on and you couldn't see nothing but lace for the rest of the year! Every girl in the street 'ad some kind a lace on 'cause all the girls went mad and bought out the shop! Them that couldn't stretch to Biba still got some kinda lace to wear!" Jill, sighed. Her mum crocheted a top for her. Biba was too dear but her mum was clever. She made the same sort of flutter sleeves as the magazine picture. All the girls on her street said she looked smashing... Hugh realized he had not heard of the Poldarks at that time, not only because he wasn't in England but because all of France was still reeling from student demonstrations and strikes, from May onwards in '68. "So they were married..." began Hugh, but Jill cut him off with the sort of sad look that might not be out of place in a silent screen movie heroine. "Oh, Mr. Armitage! They had a baby, cute as a button she was, and she up and died! And Ross got put up on trial for drugs! But he didn't do what they said! And then it came out that Ross had been on drugs when Dem came to live with 'im an' 'e was so inspired by Dem bein' so talented and musical that he quit drugs! It was true! The government 'ad proper proof! Wrote out for all to see! Didn't take any more and 'e never touched the stuff again! And they put out 'Valley of Bread' 'cause they were still so in love, even though they was so, so, so sad!" She put her hand, dramatically, over her heart as if to calm herself. "They were heartbroken! They had a little boy, and tried to be 'appy," Hugh noticed the h's had gone again. "Ross was so broke down over it all, 'e took t'the bottle! An' Dem left 'im cause they 'ad their little boy! She didn't want their little boy to see 'is dad all drunken like!" Hugh's eyebrows raised over his sunglasses. "Dem left him?" She nodded like an earnest schoolgirl. "Separated, like. They patched it up though! Ross did 'Thy Sweetness' on Tops Of The Pops! He stopped drinkin' and begged 'er t'come 'ome on Top Of The Pops! Dem came back! And they 'ad," she cleared her throat. "They had another little girl!" Hugh removed his glasses with a slow, thoughtful movement. "Did you buy 'Valley of Bread'?" he asked. She shook her head 'no'. "My brother bought it and he'd let me look at the double picture!" Hugh, knowing she meant the gatefold, was still moved to ask, "Double picture?" She nodded again. "The record cover was like a book, so you open it and there's a picture of them lying on a carpet with white roses all round..." she rolled her eyes, dreamily. "I used to stare at it for ages!" Hugh knit his brows in good humor. "Thank you, Jill. I was in need of your expertise. I shall be working with Demelza Poldark..." His explanation was interrupted by Jill gasping aloud. "You never...?" She smiled and thanked her lucky stars for switching to Warner. "I do believe I shall! I rely on you to be a professional and not swoon at the sight of her!" She smiled and nodded, even as she was excited. "You can rely on me, Mr. Armitage."

Hugh reviewed the various items Jill had been working on. He scribbled some notes in his agenda and went into his office. He sat down, put his feet up on the desk and rested his head on his hands. Looked to the ceiling. It occurred to him that Jill kept speaking of them both, but mostly spoke of the husband. Dem was a figure of respect for a girl, as Jill had been. A working class girl who could follow a magazine fairy tale in real time. Able to enjoy a dream about being singled out, elevated. A Cinderella. Demelza caught the eye of a handsome rocker. She was fashionable. A good mother. A wife that protected her child's relationship with his father, rather than a wife fed up with a drunk husband, if Jill's retelling was to be believed. Returned when the husband turned his mea culpa into a Christmas Number One. These things excited Jill, but not enough to buy or listen to a 'boys' album. Even though Dem sang on it and played on it, even though Demelza's talent for music was part of the girl's narrative, the reason she became Poldark's ward, Jill saw the Resurgam album as her brother's domain and daydreamed over the gatefold spread... 'A girl who can play guitar like a man...' thought Hugh 'A girl with no form...' Jill had opinions about Dem based upon being Ross Poldark's ward, wife, the mother of his children. Being inspiring. Inspiring her father to relinquish her in aid of her talent. Inspiring Poldark to quit drugs. Inspiring love enough that he would marry her at a young age... Jill didn't seem to consider Demelza herself, apart from being Ross Poldark's wife or her father's daughter. Hugh was not convinced Jill's narrative was altogether sound. That it explained Hempel, explained why a man not much older than himself would marry a sixteen year old, yes. Hugh suspected the full story would be messier than the recitation he'd just heard. But Demelza Poldark was mysterious, for all Jill spoke with authority about her, she had no sense of who "Dem" was. "No form..." Hugh said under his breath. A talented girl who was an exciting Cinderella to some, a notorious Jezebel to others, but no clear explanation of who she was. Demelza would live side by side with all the gossip that Hugh had to claw through. That did not have to be problematic... Hugh brought his arms down and sat properly. The Poldarks were notorious but Demelza was an unknown quantity... He rubbed his eyes. The headaches were not so often, but his eyes often felt strained. One last bite of the cherry... One last chance to try the big arena... A British hit... A girl with a bit of the English public's imagination already secure would not be a bad thing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Different For Girls, Joe Jackson 1979
> 
> What the hell is wrong with you tonight?  
> I can't seem to say or do the right thing  
> Wanted to be sure you're feeling right  
> Wanted to be sure we want the same thing  
> She said, I can't believe it  
> You can't, possibly mean it  
> Don't we, all want the same thing  
> Don't we  
> Well, who said anything about love?  
> No, not love she said  
> Don't you know that it's different for girls?  
> (Don't give me love)  
> No, not love she said  
> Don't you know that it's different for girls?  
> You're all the same  
> Mama always told me save yourself  
> Take a little time and find the right girl  
> Then again don't end up on the shelf  
> Logical advice gets you in a whirl  
> I know, a lot of things that you don't  
> You want to hear some?  
> She said, just give me something  
> Anything  
> Well give me all you got but not love  
> No, not love she said  
> Don't you know that it's different for girls?  
> (Don't give me love)  
> No, not love she said  
> Don't you know that it's different for girls?  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> Who said anything about love?  
> No, not love she said  
> Don't you know that it's different for girls?  
> (Don't give me love)  
> No, not love she said  
> Don't you know that it's different for girls?  
> (Don't give me love)  
> No, no, no, no, not love she said  
> Don't you know that it's different for girls?  
> (Don't give me love)  
> No, no, no, no, no, not love she said  
> Don't you know that it's different for girls?  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same  
> You're all the same
> 
> Incidentally, Edward Bear, one of the "Brighton Rock" showcase bands in "Ballroom Blitz" was real and Joe Jackson was a member of the band. The Motors were also real. The Shrims were a fake, all girl, punk band made up of the Demelzas and Carolines of both TV shows and named for book Demelza's sense of unease around adult Valentine in the last book of the saga, Bella Poldark.
> 
> punter: customer
> 
> mea culpa: "through my fault", taking the blame
> 
> Left as unpublished notes, not written in the established story of "Why Don't We Do It In The Road" was the idea that, unbeknownst to Dem, Ross parlayed with Tom Carne, before he left to tour with Resurgam, to agree upon a story that let them both save face and stand by should the press ask. Knowing that he would be away for months in Europe, knowing that the newspapers had a field day over their Caxton Hall wedding and knowing that their licence was forged (Carne could have exercised his right as Dem's father to demand an annulment) Ross met with Dem's dad and cooked up a narrative that let Carne's permission look benevolent, and kept his religious second wife in the dark about his sadistic abuse of his daughter. Ross was able to explain why Dem showed up in Nampara, as a minor, with an agreed upon story that suggested Tom Carne had sanctioned Ross' guardianship and left the actual way they met (Dem as a runaway and Ross as a junkie on his way to the late night chemist) secret. This was the story they all stuck to and was given prominence in the public mind in the magazine article Blue threw away in the first section of "All Tomorrow's Parties", part two of the chapter, "Tell Me Your Plans".


	8. The Prettiest Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armed and dangerous

Ross was in London, to persuade Dwight to strap on his bass again and be in the television segment*. Ross was very against being shown with an actor pretending to be a bassist his place. Ned still had commitments in Ireland for six more months but he agreed come in and to do the program. Ross needed to be seen as Resurgam in truth, not some fake band in a show. If he was to leave Resurgam's calling card in a cameo it would be as they truly were. Ross did not intend to take 'no' for an answer. Enough time had passed from the disastrous tour that culminated in their roadie, Mark Daniel, killing his wife, Keren in jealousy over her affair with Dwight. Time enough to take the small steps towards getting back together. He would not tax Dwight with his overarching aim to resurrect the band. Small steps forward. Come be in this program... Ross sat over is cup of tea in the kitchen of the flat. He could hear Clowance waking and Dem speaking, loud enough to hear but not enough to hear clearly. Jeremy was quite used to the London flat but Clowance was tetchy, Nampara was clearly her preferred residence if her crying now was any indication.

They were also in London because Dem had a project of her own. Hugh Armitage and Malcolm, Blue, were her collaborators in a project that would see her a Warner Records recording artist. Ross was interested to see how far it would go. He was proud of her talent, interested to see what she would create. Ross felt it was only right to stand by her and support her in her new adventure. He'd brought so much misery to her in the aftermath of their troubles... his troubles... turn about was fair play. Let Dem have her time to work and create. Ross still had to persuade Dwight to come back to work, still harbored the hope that they would work together properly again, but there was time enough to be a good Papa and be home with the children while Dem worked elsewhere in London. He learned to fit himself into routines, that had been established in his absence, the rhythms of life within the London flat. Jinny had an effortless confidence in her day to day tasks with Jeremy and Ross learned from Dem the subtle mysteries of looking after Clowance. As life became more complicated, as the commitments of Ross and Dem in each of their music projects would, inevitably bring them both away from home, they began to consider Jinny's suggestion that her sister, Betsy, join the household as a mother's helper. Ross being at home, the possible addition of a second minder made Dem more relaxed in perusing a project of her own. Ross wanted it to work, all he could give her was rooted in love for Dem as well as contrition toward her. He broke her heart, once upon a time, he ever strove to make amends. Dem came into the kitchen with Clowance's grumpiness changing to delight as she saw her Papa at smiling from his seat at the table. "Good morning, Clowance! Good morning, Dem!" Clowance waggled forward in Demelza's arms to reach for Ross and Dem came around to his side of the table. "G'mo-ning Papa..." said Clowance. Ross lifted her out of Dem's arms and gazed upon her, contentedly as she smiled at him. Clowance was not Julia, but having a second daughter gave Ross a happiness that was difficult to define. A second chance to love a little girl, their second little girl... Dem went to the counter, by the stove, to pour herself a cup of tea and looked fondly at Ross over her the first sip of her cup. The small joys of parenthood were writ large when he cared for their children. A very smitten father... "I have to pick up some bits and pieces at the supermarket..." said Dem. Ross nodded "I shall meet up with Dwight tomorrow. You have me all day today..." They shared another fond look. Life was never normal but these days felt the closest to "normal" for the Poldarks. They were recovered from a very deep wound, both of them relieved and grateful.

Dem returned from her errands and let Garrick off of his leash from walking him. Ross hailed her return, walking Clowance, by the hand, down the stairs, her pretty smile and bright eyes flickering between the banister rails as she descended faster to hug her mother. "Hello, Clowance!" She looked to Ross. "Are Jinny and Jeremy back?" Ross shook his head. "They are still out but I expect they won't be much longer." Dem watched Clowance walk to the low table in the lounge, rifling through a small pile of Ladybird books there, and followed. She looked at the piano bench as she entered the room. "What is that?" Ross turned to look himself as he came up behind her, rested a hand on her hip and pecked a little kiss on her cheek. A long, oblong box, that clearly held a guitar case within it, lay on the bench. "That came while you were out. I think Armitage is still offended that I force you to make do with our Fenders..." Dem chuckled. Hugh mentioned she should have her own electric guitar. He was far more posh than either of them. He lived with butlers that take your coat, mail bestowed on a silver tray, and as a bachelor too. The free, informality of Nampara, of their modest London flat was alien to Hugh. That Dem used Ross' Fenders was a strike against them in her producer's eyes. He wasn't to understand the bond between her and Ross, as friends, as spouses. She had free reign to use Ross' Fenders, long before either of them dreamed they would marry. Hugh did not understand that. She wasn't denied her own electric guitar. She ever had their guitars to use and didn't seek for another, own one that was hers. Ross gave Dem her acoustic twelve string. A Gibson with mother of pearl flowers on the fretboard, Dem's alone. Hugh could not understand that either, one supposed. Dem was excited to see it though, excited to have a new guitar. She leaned down to scratch Garrick's neck with affection. "Once the children are down for the night... I'll open it then."

"Judas!"

Ross entered the lounge to see Dem, kneeling in front of a guitar case, laid open on the floor. It was rectangular black case and a similar style to the ones Ross used for his Fenders but the indentation that housed this instrument was a markedly different shape. Dem's astonished exclamation followed by Jinny gasping aloud as she stood near by the piano, was brought about by the strangest Vox Teardrop Ross had ever seen. They were often bright colors, red, light blue. As far as Ross knew, the pick guard was always white plastic, or at the very least he'd only ever seen them in white. As far as he knew, no Vox VIs had a stardust finish. Dem and Jinny were marveling at a beautiful, sparkling guitar of an indeterminate blue green. It shimmered like a jewel with fine gold flecks in its glossy surface and the pick guard was transparent so the finish was all one saw. A custom painted Vox VI with a clear pick guard. It was extraordinary. It was gorgeous. It was Demelza's. "That's amazing!" said Jinny. Dem looked up at Ross and his mouth fell open then. The guitar complemented Dem's eyes. She smiled up at him over the case and it was unmistakable. "It matches your eyes!" he said in a shocked tone. Jinny agreed, nodding vigorously. "It really does, Dem! It's terrific!" It was feminine looking in a way that defied the pop art look that guitar model often had. The body was an eccentric shape, a rounded bottom, shaped like a like a tear or a lute, but held most of the same features of a Stratocaster, not too dissimilar from the Fenders she learned on. She lifted it from the case and held the Vox, in her arms, as tenderly as any of her children. She looked between Ross and Jinny with a happy smile, the shining sort of smile she managed to produce when her happiness was at its highest height. She set about tuning it at once. Ross brought the amp by the sofa over to the piano. Jinny pulled the piano bench forward. It was as if the guitar itself set them into motion, compelled to aid Dem, attendants to aid her in her maiden voyage. Dem sat on the bench and plugged in, not too loud for the children were in their beds. Jinny and Ross looked at each other in happy expectation. Ross had it in him to be resentful of Hugh's present, annoyed at recalling the sour look of both Hugh and Malcolm when Dem mentioned using their Fenders. That he be seen as an impediment to her by "denying" Dem her own electric guitar. He could not hold to it. The joy and excitement in her face was too genuine. It charmed him. As she played, tried chords, played snatches of songs, stopped, caressed the guitar body in fascination, marveling at the smooth, flawlessness of this sparkling... weapon... Ross smiled. His wife was armed. Armed and dangerous. She smiled up at them both as they admired her new guitar and her happy excitement in sharing her first time playing it.

"It's wonderful!" sighed Dem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prettiest Star, David Bowie 1973
> 
> Cold fire, you've got everything but cold fire  
> You will be my rest and peace, child  
> I moved up to take a place  
> Near you  
> So tired, it's the sky that makes you feel tried  
> It's a trick to make you see wide  
> It can all but break your heat  
> In pieces  
> Staying back in your memory  
> Are the movies in the past?  
> How you moved is all it takes  
> To sing a song of when I loved  
> The prettiest star  
> One day, though it might as well be someday  
> You and I will rise up all the way  
> All because of what you are  
> The prettiest star  
> Staying back in your memory  
> Are the movies in the past?  
> How you moved is all it takes  
> To sing a song of when I loved  
> The prettiest star  
> One day, though it might as well be someday  
> You and I will rise up all the way  
> All because of what you are  
> The prettiest star
> 
> *Ross was asked for Resurgam to be the band in a television program, to play in a scene as themselves in a drama. This was part of the 'Supper's Ready' story that should have preceded 'Sympathy For The Devil'.
> 
> The Vox "Mark VI", an electric guitar with a tear shaped body began production in the early 1960s. "Teardrop" was a nickname derived from fans and musicians. The company, Vox, never called this model a "Teardrop" themselves. Having only know it as such I was astonished to find that out.


	9. Getting To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Un pour tous, tous pour un

The rehearsal room was in a better part of London that Blue had no cause to be in otherwise. When he told Hugh where his drums were kept, Hugh actually wrinkled his nose. "I'm certain I can find you better accommodation than that!" he sniffed. It catered to professional musicians but one was more likely to hear cellos and violins, recital practice for more "serious" music. One would be hard pressed to hear anything for the rooms were professionally soundproofed. Whatever Red, Blue and Hugh managed to conjure from their rock and roll arrangement would be secreted behind the same closed door as the other studios of this place.

Blue held the door open for Red with exaggerated chivalry and she curstied, swinging her brand new Vox in it's case to the side as if it was the hem of a grand ballgown. The foyer was not large, glossy with marble floors and ornate ceiling decorations. "Do you have an appointment?" asked a disapproving looking older man behind a dark wood, glossy desk. Demelza turned to look at him, happily as Blue, who faced the desk from the door already, said, "Aye! We got a room in 'ere. Second floor!" The man looked from one to the other. "Name?" Malcolm and Demelza said, at much the same time, "McNeil!" "Poldark!" and grinned at him, expectantly. The man looked at a clip board in front of him and nodded. "Thank you..." They considered using the elevator but seemed to blink their agreement that the steps made more sense. "You don't hear nothing in 'ere!" said Blue stomping up the stairs. Their old building was a muted cacophony of what everyone one else in the place was playing. "It's quite grand," chuckled Red. "He almost seemed disappointed that he had to let us in!" Blue turned up his nose as he opened the stairwell door, letting Red through like a proper gent. "'E dunno quality when 'e sees it!" They entered the hall and two older men carrying violin cases nodded a bemused greeting as they passed. One could hear cellos briefly and then silence once more as the door they entered closed. They were further down the hall. Further because the rooms themselves were larger than the old building. The room was brightly lit with recessed lighting across the ceiling. A vista of bland, beige wall to wall carpet, lay before them. Clean and exact. Occasional divots, pressed from where equipment or chairs had been, were visible but it was extremely tidy. What windows there were lay in a line near the ceiling and only two of them opened to the outside, on an angle. The place was fresh smelling, not musty. The room was much larger than the old one. Blue's drums did not take up as much space within it. "Ee could run about like the Olympics in 'ere!" An upright piano and a brace of folding chairs sat against one wall. A small forest of sheet music stands stood in a cluster over in the opposite corner. Demelza walked forward, looking around, turning in a circle with her guitar case in hand. She turned to Blue, smiling. Yes. They could work here... "Don't keep me 'angin', Red! Lemme see the Vox!" She smiled wider and put the case in the floor. "You won't believe it...!" said Red as she put the case on the floor and opened it. Blue wolf whistled his approval. It was a strange color until Red looked up at him. Demelza watched Blue's mouth fall open as she looked up at him. He was impressed. Hugh gave her a stardust finish Vox teardrop that matched her eyes, complimented her blue green eyes. Malcolm startled to realize it as she smiled up at him. It was perfection. "Wow!" said Malcolm, stepping back to scan the room for an amp. "Ee needs t'plug that bad boy in, love!" He looked about the room and saw the amplifiers, three small Fenders against the wall. He went to bring one closer to his drums. Red stood up, bounced on her feet in excitement. Blue could see she was raring to go. She came along side to plug in. He chuckled to see her so eager. "Let me get my snare sorted..." said Malcolm.

Hugh had let himself be talked into playing bass from the first. Malcolm asked if he could play bass as if Hugh were a musician rather than a producer. This charmed Hugh. The demarcation between management and talent was often stark. That the drummer considered him able to play anything with competency was a compliment. Hugh had grown up in a certain place in a certain time. The British explosion of the homegrown skiffle craze and rock and roll, both influenced by the United States and all the American coolness. He did learn guitar and found bass more appealing. He was not committed enough to join bands and was drawn to the producer side of things having heard songs with Phil Spector's 'Wall of Sound' technique in the early sixties. Hugh became drawn to francophone pop as it hew closer to that ornate style rather than England's Beat groups at that time. Hugh crossed over to the management, corporate side. If musicians were "us", Hugh had, firmly, placed himself as "them". Hugh was giving himself a chance to play at being a performer himself. This was a daydream that some in management habored. Others of his ilk were content to earn their crust on the backs of their performers, the natural order of things... He had a chance to try, a chance to try for everything, the larger arena of English pop music, besting the hardest nut to crack before he met his reward. Hugh approached the studio, carrying his black Hagstrom in a rectangle case, about to barge right in, but thought better of it. If his band mates were already there, perhaps a little reconnaissance would not go amiss. He opened the door a crack and stood to listen.

Demelza was laughing. Malcolm was hitting a drum head and the sound changed as he was tightening the drum head. Demelza was tuning her guitar and they were chatting about her children. Hugh was about to open the door properly but stopped when he heard them start to play. "Hahahahaha!" Her laughter quickly turned into her guitar screeching like a police siren and then part of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" Malcolm complained, "Christ! 'Ang on, Red! The snare ain't rig..." Demelza was riffing on the song, playing the main chords of the song over and over, tapping her foot as if she was impatient. Malcolm turned to look at her with a wry smile. Demelza pushed a stray curl of hair away from her eye and they started to laugh. What ever was wrong with the snare drum did not seem to matter now. Malcolm starting drumming. They were playing in earnest and Hugh felt a trickle of fear. They were clearly fooling around, not the least bit serious. They were clearly better musicians than he was. He stood by the door, listening. Auditioning bassists would add a deal of time to the proceedings but might be worth it in the long run. Hugh was no slouch but...

Red was trying it on, demanding a battle, and Blue, laughing his defeat as he gave up working on his snare, obliged her. They started to speed up and slow down through "Paranoid", pushing each other to change the tempo and keep up with the other, a game they enjoyed. This was a common pastime when they used to play together in Blue's old rehearsal room, play the game with all sorts of songs. It was a way to show off as well as hone ones reflexes. Demelza took to it like a duck to water when Malcolm introduced it to her. He had been a session player in New York and often told her about the jam sessions and fun to be had, killing time between gigs, hanging out in clubs. 

The song went from being too fast, to slow as syrup, to so fast Hugh's mouth fell open. He peeked. Demelza wasn't even looking at her fingers most of the time. They were laughing and smiling at each other like they were the only two people in the world, distorting and romping through the song without a care and seemingly no effort. Giggling. Malcolm raised one drumstick, as if poised to strike and froze. Demelza sustained the note she was playing as they stared each other down, eyes lit with mischief. He thumped the bass drum with his foot, bringing each beat faster, closer together, and Demelza giggling as she watched for Malcolm to strike with his raised hand. Hugh leaned against the door frame, door open just enough to witness this strange game in progress. Can one play at being a rockstar with actual rockers? Hugh watched them as Malcolm swiped quickly with his arm, struck a cymbal with a merry laugh, brought both arms round, into a dizzying whirlwind, as they played in tandem again. Demelza smiled into her friend's eyes as they finished. Malcolm grinned and then resumed fiddling with his snare and they began to speak of other things. Waiting for him to arrive. Hugh felt uneasy. Two musicians who knew each other well, played together well and could play him into the ground. Stumbling upon two musicians of this caliber was fortunate. Hugh started to worry he would be a weak link between them. They needed a third member who could stand toe to toe with them, he thought. Hugh was not sure he was the bassist they needed... Red finished out with 'Pop Goes The Weasel' and Blue smiled his approval. They started talking of Jeremy when Hugh came striding in, a rectangle guitar case in his hand. Red turned to hear the door open. "Hello, Hugh! Is that your bass?" Hugh bowed in her direction. "Hello, Demezla, Malcolm..." Blue gave Hugh a jaunty salute, "Plug in, mate! We was just gettin' goin'..." Hugh nodded. "I heard as I came near," he looked from one to the other, though his dark glasses gave no hint of this. Hugh looked as chilly and imposing as ever. The boss... They looked to him, expectant that he tell them what to do. Expecting him to join in and magic a hit record for them all. Hugh was cowed, not an emotion he was familiar with. He cleared his throat. "I do wonder if we shouldn't audition more bassists..." Demelza's eyebrows raised. Malcolm looked disturbed. To his mind, Red was not 'safe caught'. She said yes, yes to trying something new, but they had not signed on the dotted line, so to speak. These days of practice were as much practice in truth as readying for signing with Warner. Getting their measure, knowing what they were capable of before Hugh pitched them to the label and he and Red became signed artists. Hugh was on board, he wouldn't have given Red her Vox or moved his drums to this place if he wasn't serious about working with them. Malcolm was anxious that she not change her mind, back out. Auditioning bass players would drag things out and Red being put in the position of vetting them might make her go off the idea. An open call for bass players would spread the word around that she was looking to perform, in the grapevine, in the music papers... There would be talk before they even got going. They might look to compare her to Ross before they knew what they wanted for themselves. 'Fuck...' thought Malcolm. "'Ere, Hugh? What ee botherin' about? You can play bass, can't ee?" Red looked to Blue, she was not looking to build a band from 'spare parts'. She relied on the idea that the lineup was settled. Malcolm nodded his head 'yes' towards Demelza. Hugh could not tell what they were agreeing to. Blue nodded, it made Dem relax. Blue knew she did not want to have to say 'no' to people. She was sensitive about these things. She did not want to look at candidates and have to tell one they were best, the rest second best. Having felt demoted in her own life at times, she was afraid to be responsible for looking someone else in the face and saying 'you aren't good enough...' Hugh, a pragmatic sort, felt getting them a peer, somebody who could meet them where they were, made better sense than plodding along with him as bass player. Hugh had entered into the spirit of this as a lark, 'Why not?! Why not play the rockstar if one's eye is on the clock? The last gamble. A bit of fun, a last harrah,' but Hugh became unnerved watching them 'messing about', their musicianship was miles above his. "I can hold my own, but I do think you should have a stronger bassist than I am!" Hugh said this in an off hand manner. Never deviating from his crisp, authoritarian tone. His sunglasses concealed his nervousness. He was nervous to be seen by them as a pretender. Malcolm looked at Hugh. Tried to figure him out. 'E's rusty... Fair enough... Ain't no thing...' He spoke up, "Don't be like that, Hugh! We'll get to work, eh? Ee can play bass, right? Even if it be a bit of awhile, ain't played a bit of a while, ee'll get back to where you was..." Hugh smirked. "Any manager worth his salt would find you two a stronger bassist." Malcolm grinned. "Then it's a good thing we ain't payin' ya!" Demelza bent over her guitar laughing. "Plug in, Hugh!" she smiled. "Let's see how we do!" Hugh looked at these people in front of him. His clients. His band mates. They smiled encouragement to him and behaved as if they had faith in his ability. Perhaps he should have faith too. 

Dem came through the door in a thoughtful mood. The practice had gone well. She liked her Vox. The manager could play, not flashy, but certainly not as woeful as Hugh suggested. He had a black Hagstrom, more than one, and knew his way around it. He was worrying needlessly. Hugh might have had the same sort of doubts she nursed as Blue insisted she try her hand at playing "proper", making music herself... without Ross... Ross looked up from the sofa, holding a napping Clowance. He hesitated to lay her down. They don't stay little forever... sometimes they don't stay safe in their beds... her breath, her small movements, asleep against his chest, her head nestled under his chin... a sort of heaven... He raised his brows. "It went well?" he whispered. Dem set the guitar case down, her sparkling Vox, and came near to admire Ross and Clowance looking so darling. "Yes" whispered Dem. "Jinny is still out with Jeremy?" Ross lay his head back on the sofa's back. Clowance murmured but did not wake. "They're in the garden. What does Armitage play?" Ross was curious to know. He half imagined the producer bought a bass to use recently. Hugh seemed so management class it was hard to believe he was any sort of musician. Dem smiled. Hugh was her bassist. She stood by him knowing Ross would approve of the brand. "Hugh plays a Hagstrom..." whispered Dem. She stroked Clowance's hair gently, kissed Ross' mouth gently. Clowance did not wake, but the gentle caress of her hair, the sudden, brief warmth of her mother's face laid near and her father's deep throated whisper, rumbling near as her ear lay close to Papa's neck, sweetened her afternoon dreams that much more. Ross' eyes narrowed. "A badge model?" Dem smiled. Her eyes crinkled from it. "No, a proper Hagstrom, but he did say his first bass was a Futurama..." Ross nodded his approval. Ross had Opinions about guitars. Dem could see Ross looking to find fault and could not find it. A Futurama WAS a Hagstrom. A Swedish made guitar brand producing a "badge brand" for another country's market, the English market. That Hugh had begun on a Futurama put his playing trajectory on par with Ross', learning young in the guitar craze of the late fifties and early sixties. That he moved on to a "proper" Hagstrom showed him to be somewhat serious even as he went into music production. "Did Malcolm go easy on him?" asked Ross as he rubbed Clowance's back. Drummers and bassists were often pals. Dem said Malcolm was exceptional and Ross wondered if the drummer put the producer through his paces. "We all went easy, we're only just getting to know him. He did well. He said we should audition other people but..." Ross looked to her with heightened interest. "He doesn't want to play bass?" Dem shrugged, sat on the floor as Garrick came in and she gave him a cuddle. She relished it. It wasn't until she sank into Garrick's love that she realized how nervous she had been at the idea that the plan might change. She hadn't considered how much she came to rely on the idea that Blue and Hugh were immutable pieces of this project, whatever the project produced. They were a trio. "He thought he wasn't a strong enough player," she shrugged. "He was fine! I don't know how "strong" a bass player needs to be anyway! We talked him round..." Ross gave a quiet chuckle. Malcolm and Dem in cahoots would be quite a hard force to counter. She wore one of his older linen shirts over a tee shirt of her own. It was too big for her but Ross enjoyed how it looked. The hem of her short black skirt was just visible, her black tights had flecks of Garrick's hair showing on them. She was hugging Garrick, like always. He admired her, as he cuddled their sleeping daughter, watching Dem embarking on the verge of something new, stretching her wings. Watching Dem as she always had been, hugging Garrick, loving and lavishing care on their children, loving him... Dem stood up, "C'mon, Garrick!" she whispered. She patted her thigh with her hand as she walked so Garrick would follow her to the garden. There was still time before dinner. It wasn't much different than coming home from the shops, coming home from jamming with Blue, band rehearsal. The pattern of her life as it was didn't change so much. Jinny was always such a help with the children. Ross being home was wonderful. They had switched places, perhaps. Ross keeping the homefires burning as she tried something new, struck out on a new adventure. They had a quiet night. They enjoyed their dinner. The children were put to bed. Dem and Jinny talked of this and that as Ross played his black Gibson on the sofa opposite the chairs they were sitting in. Old chairs. Ross thought about refreshing the London house, buying new furniture. Making more of an effort. He had been a guest in many different sorts of places once his fortunes were so changed by having a Number One. Different houses, places of grandeur. He had no taste for fancy things but all of the furnishings here were looking past "lived in", they just looked tired and old. Dem had her hands full, starting a band. Now, perhaps was not the time to task her with a big project... Start small. Newer lamps. Replace the rug that was old when he was a boy... Little steps. They said goodnight to Jinny as she went upstairs for the night. They turned to look at each other, smiled their collusion as the day was done. Making love in a three flat house holding two children and a nanny was a delicate enterprise for a couple so used to free space and seclusion. It was a challenge, but not impossible. A pact to kiss each other silent. To press the pleasures between them like a dare... I shall please you until you scream...but you cannot, I shall please you until you cry out...but you cannot. We shall look each other in the eye and know it... I know you, wife. I know you, husband. We shall be quiet... but we two shall know...

Ross and Dem retired to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting To Know You, as performed by Marni Nixon 1956
> 
> It's a very ancient saying,  
> But a true and honest thought  
> That if you become a teacher  
> By your pupils you'll be taught  
> As a teacher I've been learning  
> And forgive me if I boast  
> That I've now become an expert  
> On the subject I like most  
> Getting to know you  
> Getting to know you, getting to know all about you  
> Getting to like you, getting to hope you like me  
> Getting to know you, putting it my way but nicely  
> You are precisely my cup of tea  
> Getting to know you  
> Getting to feel free and easy  
> When I am with you  
> Getting to know what to say  
> Haven't you noticed  
> Suddenly I'm bright and breezy  
> Because of all the beautiful and new things  
> I'm learning about you day by day  
> My cup of tea  
> Getting to know you  
> Getting to feel free and easy  
> When I am with you  
> Getting to know what to say  
> Haven't you noticed  
> Suddenly I'm bright and breezy  
> Because of all the beautiful and new things  
> I'm learning about you day by day  
> Getting to know you  
> Getting to feel free and easy  
> When I am with you  
> Getting to know what to say  
> Haven't you noticed  
> Suddenly I'm bright and breezy  
> Because of all the beautiful and new things  
> I'm learning about you day by day
> 
> Un pour tous, tous pour un: All for one and one for all, from Alexander Dumas' "The Three Musketeers", 1844
> 
> The model of Hagstrom bass Hugh plays has more pronounced points at the top of the guitar body than a Fender or many other guitar makers. Points on either side of the guitar neck. One might see them as reminiscent of flames, or devil's horns...


	10. Our Lips Are Sealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Query

Malcolm and Demelza called each other Red and Blue. Hugh found this eccentric but did not quibble over it. He declined to use their nicknames. In his head he dubbed them Hansel and Gretel, the fairytale children who got lost in the forest and found a witch's lair made of candy and gingerbread. They were both twenty five but Hugh often felt en loco parentis was added to the growing number of hats he wore on this project. They were amusing and very much like overgrown children. Malcolm had an arch sweet tooth. Demelza was animated and curious to learn new things. She constantly asked questions, asked for explanations, like a hyperactive schoolgirl. They occasionally bickered like siblings over silly things and they were very free with each other. Malcolm would offer his arm, to escort Demelza in politeness, as they walked about but they also would often hold hands or Malcolm would put his arm, protectively, around her when they walked. Demelza would put her arm around him, unbidden, or hug him in greeting. They would sit close together, lean near each other. It was affectionate. There was little that was sexual in it but it seemed like the permission one would only grant if you were intimate or had been. Hugh was not sure. They might be a couple or he was reading them wrong. Demelza's husband was older than her. On the evening of the soiree, Poldark seemed unfazed by this behavior. The Poldarks were an unconventional couple, perhaps he was willing to indulge her, an open marriage...? It wouldn't be strange to step out with a man more her own age... Hugh, who never liked surprises, asked Malcolm about it as the walked to the rehearsal room. It was not something he would ask Demelza. "You and Demelza...?" Hugh began. "Aye?" Malcolm turned to look at him as they walked. "What's the story?" asked Hugh. "Are you having it off, or what?"

"What?!"

Malcolm stopped walking and looked at Hugh, shocked. Hugh was surprised to see Malcolm so mystified by the question. Did they not understand what it looked like? "'Ere! There's none of that!" said Malcolm, tersely. Hugh snickered. "Oh, give over, Malcolm! You two are quite handsy with each other!" Malcolm was of a height to Hugh, but stood a shade taller if he straightened up. He did so, scowling. "Red's a lady! And I'm a gent, come t'that! She's married an' all! It ain't like that!" Hugh smirked. Malcolm was clearly offended by Hugh's suggestion. "O.K., O.K., I apologize. But I needed to know. I want to know what I've got in front of me. I don't like surprises." Malcolm looked at Hugh. "That's fair enough..." he looked stern. "What you've got is a guitarist and a drummer," then he smiled, grudgingly. "And a mate n' all if ee keep a civil tongue in your head!" Hugh laughed, put his hands up in defense of himself. "I stand corrected." Malcolm's eyes widened. "Christ! You didn't say something like this to Red?!" Hugh clapped his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "No, no, no. That's not the sort of thing I would ask a lady." Malcolm looked relieved. "Well thank God for that!" Malcolm looked at Hugh as he removed his reassuring hand from his shoulder, who's dark glasses kept him from seeing his eyes, spoke in seriousness. "Red's my friend. A proper mate. That's all." Hugh nodded. They continued to walk. Hugh added 'guardian' to his shifting number of hats. Malcolm and Demelza were low maintenance. Excited to work and didn't keep bad habits. They were little trouble, no drugs, they drank of an evening but not to excess. He'd look after them. The music business was filled with temptations and the lures of people wanting to ingratiate themselves by offering every sort of vice. Hugh would keep them as he found them and make sure they did not fall into trouble. He would keep an eye on them. A curious eye. Red and Blue might believe they were just friends, but it was their manager's private opinion that, should they get on the wrong side of a few too many drinks, it might make the difference between their chastity and fucking each other silly, even if they didn't believe it of themselves. Hugh chuckled softly as they approached the rehearsal room, a private amusement. 'Would they call each other Red and Blue in the throes of passion...?' he wondered. Malcolm disliked Hugh's amusement at his expense and gave him a wry but also a warning sort of look. Hugh's mirth made it plain that he spied a bit of carnal love lurking within the drummer for their guitarist. Hugh winked. "Man to man, Malcolm. I'll not tell, my lips are sealed..." Malcolm nodded. Demelza, dark blue cotton tunic sprigged with white embroidered flowers at the neck, worn like a dress over black tights, legs crossed, seated on a folding chair, looked up from an exercise book when she heard the door open, twiddling a pen between her fingers. "Hello!" she said, cheerfully, ready to get started. Her Vox was laying across a different chair, already plugged in. They greeted Demelza and got to work. They played some more and started to consider what they wanted to sound like. Demelza knew a lot blues standards and it informed her playing. Hugh was very impressed with her. It was as if she'd sprung forward, fully formed, from Jimi Hendrix's forehead like a rock and roll Athena. She wasn't wedded to the blues though. She had a pop sensibility as well and didn't have the snobbery over it like many who love traditional r&b. That gave them options and Hugh was enjoying being a cog in this strange machine of theirs. The creativity they shared was exciting. They took a break. Hugh was on his way out to grab a magazine at the newsagent before they resumed. He turned at the door and looked at Malcolm and Demelza, sitting on the floor, looking at an exercise book they were using for lyrics. Demelza, was lying on her stomach with her ankles crossed up in the air behind her, writing, and Malcolm sat along side the book, his legs extended and leaning back against the wall. He and Malcolm locked eyes as the drummer was about to put a piece of candy in his mouth. Demelza looked up as Hugh laughed a wicked sort of snicker. He teased Malcolm, a legpull, no true malice. Within Malcolm's chivalry, there was a lovestruck knight behind it for all his protestations otherwise. Malcolm paused from putting the sweet in his mouth and glowerered, briefly. Hugh was taking the piss. Malcolm smirked. Hugh dared to tease him because he could see that Malcolm fancied Red. What man with two working eyes wouldn't fancy Red? 'That's a fair cop...' thought Malcolm. Hugh wouldn't have done, wouldn't have poked a bit of fun, if he didn't accept what Malcolm had said. Blue knew his place. Malcolm widened his eyes and stuck out his tongue at Hugh, like a bratty child, and then ate his sweet. The two men understood each other. Hugh laughed and went out. "What was that about?" laughed Demelza, charmed by the exchange. Malcolm rolled the candy to the side of his mouth to talk. "Nuthin'! But 'e don't 'alf smirk sometimes!" Demelza rested her chin on her hand, propped up on her elbow. "But you do like him, though?" she asked. Hugh smirked more often than he smiled but she was learning not to see mean spiritedness in it. Malcolm smiled and opened the quarter bag wider to offer Red a sweet, which she accepted. "Yeah, 'e's alright..."

Hugh went to get his magazine. He'd teased Malcolm and enjoyed it. He would not repeat it. One little jab was enough. If they were going to work together, they had to be equals and he did not want to create bad blood between them. A trio only worked correctly when each side of the triangle was equal and Hugh's roles as producer and manager made balance between them as a band tricky. If Red and Blue were just friends that made Hugh's job easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our Lips Are Sealed, The GoGos 1981
> 
> Can you hear them?  
> They talk about us  
> Telling lies  
> Well, that's no surprise
> 
> Can you see them?  
> See right through them  
> They have no shield  
> No secrets to reveal
> 
> It doesn't matter what they say  
> In the jealous games people play  
> Our lips are sealed
> 
> There's a weapon  
> That we must use  
> In our defense  
> Silence reveals
> 
> When you look at them  
> Look right through them  
> That's when they'll disappear  
> That's when we'll be feared
> 
> It doesn't matter what they say  
> In the jealous games people play  
> Our lips are sealed
> 
> Pay no mind to what they say  
> It doesn't matter anyway  
> Our lips are sealed
> 
> Hush, my darling  
> Don't you cry  
> Quiet, angel  
> Forget their lies
> 
> Can you hear them?  
> They talk about us  
> Telling lies  
> Well, that's no surprise
> 
> Can you see them?  
> See right through them  
> They have no shield  
> No secrets to reveal
> 
> It doesn't matter what they say  
> In the jealous games people play  
> Our lips are sealed
> 
> Pay no mind to what they say  
> It doesn't matter anyway  
> Our lips are sealed  
> Our lips are sealed  
> Our lips are sealed
> 
> that's a fair cop: undeniably caught in the wrong, the perpetrator knows he deserves it


	11. You're My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> En famille

"Oops!" laughed Jeremy as he lost his grip on the guitar pick and it fell to the floor. "Hahaha, not to worry," Ross leaned to the left to retrieve another pick from the scatter of them by the lamp and hand it to Jeremy. "Here, one, two, three..." Ross held his fingers on the neck and let Jeremy strum chords with the pick, sharing the guitar with Jeremy on his lap. Dem could hear Ross and Jeremy using the black Gibson in the lounge. Jinny had her day off on Saturdays. It was the day that she caught up with Clowance, so often in Ross' care during the week and Ross spent time with Jeremy who spent a great deal of his week with Jinny. Blue often came to dinner as well, to visit. He did not resume his old "job", walking Garrick, looking after Jeremy on Saturdays. Ross and Dem relished the opportunity to be a family in truth again. Privately, they each worked to vanquish their demons. Dem was still upset about Valentine, Elizabeth bearing Ross' child stung. Ross was still upset about Valentine, relinquishing his son to the Warleggans, breaking Dem's heart twice -first by infidelity and then a child produced from it, knowing himself to be parents with Liza in this curdled, poisoned manner. He'd not know his second son, the child would not know him to be his father... Ross and Dem both worked to cram all of these heartaches into the darkest corner they could find and keep going forward.

Mama walked with the pushchair, watching Clowance become lulled to sleep by it, Papa walked with Garrick on his lead and Jeremy walking alongside, talking a mile a minute and secure in having his attention. Saturday had always been nice when they were in London. Before, Jinny went off on her own and Blue would play with him and they would walk Garrick all around. Now Papa conducted Saturday, in much the same manner and Uncle Blue often joined them for dinner. Papa did not care for fish and chips. They did not go to the chip shop anymore. But supper was always nice and Jeremy had Papa mostly to himself all day. That was wonderful.  
The day was overcast. They had umbrellas, just in case, but rain held off. Dem sat next to a sleeping Clowance, on a park bench and watched Ross and Jeremy play with Garrick. In the distance the edge of the water could be seen. They often used this area, away from the water and the path that led to it, for there was more grass for Garrick to run around and not get in the way of others in the park. Blue would come by tonight, they might work on lyrics too, later. The rehearsals were fun, they were getting somewhere. The children were happy. Jinny's sister, Betsy, would come to help. They would have to do up another room. Maybe Jinny might like to take the third floor with Betsy, together. There was no kitchen stuff up there, save the cabinets and the sink... Maybe they could have that old kitchen space as a playroom... They didn't really use the third floor, only went up there to use the bathtub to wash Garrick. They had played music up there once when Dwight and Ned helped to work out what they wanted to play in the recording studio, years gone now. She had been deloused up there, years gone...  
Clowance woke and ran around excitedly as Ross and Jeremy played a slow motion sort of tag with her so she could keep up. The humor of indulging her, the collusion between them of being slow enough for her to feel they were equally matched, father and son and daughter playing together, was sweet. Dem watched them, from her bench, Garrick trotted to her side and she placed her arm around him as he rested his chin on her knee. Jeremy's willingness to play with Clowance and be nice to her in this way, not lord his prowess as the older, swifter brother was so like him. Jeremy was so gentle, so helpful...  
Clowance woke and came running towards them. Papa winked at him. Jeremy felt very grown up, knowing to meet Clowance where she was and scheme with Papa to make her happy. Run about slowly so she could enjoy herself and not be disappointed. Not feel like she couldn't keep up. "Jer-me!" Clowance laughed and gave him a great big hug, not just a tag. Hugged him and laughed and she smiled up at him, proud to have caught him. Papa and Mama smiled at both of them. It was nice when Clowance laughed. She laughed more often that he did, when he was little. When she smiled up at him he could see that she liked him. When he smiled her smile got wider too. That made Jeremy happy. He liked being "Jer-me". She was cute when she would talk because she was right and wrong at the same time. She called Blue, 'Boo' because she was too little to say it properly. Blue didn't mind though. Blue winked too, let Jeremy know that they were older and Clowance would be older too someday. Jeremy liked being big. Jeremy had lost the fears that plagued him in younger years. Papa and Mama had joined their houses. Papa was as at home in London as they all were in Nampara. Jeremy felt that life had righted itself somehow. He was not certain what role he had played in their exile, years prior, but Papa was insistent that Mama was "Mama", not "Mam" and he never sought to blame Jeremy for what had happened. Papa looked at Jeremy in the eye, spoke to him and listened to him, hugged him and laughed with him and read him stories. Papa promised that Jeremy would have his own guitar and when he strummed along with him this morning, using the black guitar together, Jeremy felt very special. He did not feel jealous of Clowance who seemed to have these attentions from Papa from the first. Jeremy took the long veiw. Papa had broken out of a shell, like a bird. He had been in his shell when Jeremy was small but had "made un up". Prudie had said that once, to Jud, when they had not known Jeremy was listening. That Papa had not given Jeremy as much attention when he was small but he "made un up to the mite"... Now he was big and Clowance was "the mite". Perhaps Papa just needed practice... Papa was very good at being Papa now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're My Best Friend, Jefferson Airplane 1967
> 
> Ah, you're my best friend  
> (You are my best friend)  
> And I love you so well  
> Till the end of time you won't see me  
> Ah, you're my best friend  
> (You are my best friend)  
> When I see you, it seems  
> Now I can see I've fallen into your love stream  
> I follow your dream  
> Do you know what I mean, yeah  
> I follow you wherever time will take me to  
> Forever I'll be one with you  
> One with you  
> One with you
> 
> Ah, you're my best friend  
> (You are my best friend)  
> And I saw that you're seein'  
> I'll set you free and just like me you'll be bein'  
> In love with me  
> Do you know what I mean, yeah  
> Do you know what I mean now  
> (Do you know what I mean)  
> I'm gonna set you free now  
> (Do you know)  
> You'll be in love with me  
> (Do you know what I mean)  
> You're my best friend now  
> Ah, you're my best friend  
> (You are my best friend)  
> And I love you so well  
> Till the end of time you won't see me  
> Ah, you're my best friend  
> (You are my best friend)  
> When I see you, it seems  
> Now I can see I've fallen into your love stream  
> I follow your dream  
> Do you know what I mean, yeah  
> Do you know what I mean now  
> (Do you know what I mean)  
> You'll be in love with me now  
> (Do you know)  
> I'm gonna set you free, yeah  
> (What I mean)  
> Oh you're my best friend now


	12. So You Want To Be A Rock And Roll Star?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings

Red and Blue entered the offices of WEA like Dorothy and the scarecrow entering the land of Oz. The seriousness of the surroundings was impressive. And, yes, they had an appointment with Hugh Armitage, thank you very much... Malcolm looked all about. "Christ! You can see why 'e thought the rehearsal room would be a tip!" Red giggled. Hugh, when told where Malcolm kept his drums, wrinkled his nose and insisted they rehearse in a place 'more suitable'. She extended her arm and Blue smiled. He escorted Red to the elevator like a proper gent. Demelza walked with Malcolm like a proper, Hempel lady. That they were, in their hearts, two working class kids from Scotland and England gave their elegant mien extra savor.  
The cheerful receptionist at the desk in the room before the proper office looked up from the papers in front of her and said hello. She was near their age with the sort of pussy bow blouse and frothy hairstyle of a woman who kept up with all the magazines. "You are Malcolm and Demelza?" she asked, knowing full well she was face to face with 'Dem'. She would tell all her friends and bask in their envy later. "Aye, lass." smiled Malcolm. "Yes, hello." said Demelza with a friendly nod of the head. Jill nodded back her greeting with a smile, careful to be as professional as Mr. Armitage requested. "Mr. Armitage is on the phone but he told me you could go in at once." They walked to the door and could hear Hugh's end of the conversation behind it.

  
"No. There are no errors. That sheet is correct."

  
"Do you know who you're talking to?!"

  
Malcolm and Demelza exchanged quizzical glances as they stood before Hugh's door. He was arguing with someone on the phone.

  
"I don't understand you. I don't go through this sort of silliness in France. Yes. Yes! That is correct. The songwriting is three ways. McNeil is not part of the arrangement, he is a performer. Yes! For pity's sake! It doesn't matter! We're playing under her name but is not a solo act, it is a trio! Yes. I want it in triplicate and I want no more of this foolishness! It was all there in black and white from the start!"

  
The phone's receiver slammed in its cradle as a string of invective, in French, could be heard. Malcolm and Demelza looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "Jill!" They could hear Hugh and the speaker on the receptionist's desk talk at the same time. "Jill! I will perish if I don't get a cup of tea! May I have a cup of tea, please?" Jill winked at Malcolm and Demelza, amused to see them surprised at Hugh's show of temper. "Yes, Mr. Armitage." "Thank you, my dear." With one last look between them, Red and Blue entered Hugh's office. It was quite grand. The desk was the sort that was all glossy, expensive wood and the windows were like walls letting in a great deal of light into the room with views of the city beyond like a picture postcard. A dark blue carpet with golden figures and leaves covered nearly all of the floor. The bookcases went the length of the room behind him and were elegantly filled, not crammed or messy. Demelza was surprised to recognize the same Coloured Fairy Books that were in the library at Nampara. There were many yellow bound books bunched together, art books, thick and heavy enough to be weaponry. Awards from his various French triumphs were dotted here and there. The desk lamp was the brass sort that one might see in an law office. In the four corners of the room stood large, round brass lamps with huge black silk shades, giving light upward from beneath like some sort of temple. As they approached the desk they caught a glimpse of neat piles of magazines on the floor, in front of the bookcase. They were oversized and bore the title 'Du' which seemed French. Demelza and Malcolm soon came to learn it was a German language magazine by way of Switzerland of which Hugh was an ardent subscriber. Hugh smiled at them, fondly. "Hello, do sit down." They did so. The chairs were black, leather upholstered wood and very comfortable. Hugh's desk had little clutter on it. Jill came in with Hugh's cup of tea. "Thank you, Jill." Hugh smiled at them. "Would you like a cup of tea?" They nodded. They were a band but Hugh's bitter conversation and the lux surroundings of the office put them a little off balance. "Jill, may I have two teas for my friends, please?" "Of course, sir." Jill's cockney accent was charming. "Thank you, my dear." said Hugh. "You're the only the only thing keeping me sane in this bedlam!" She laughed and went to procure tea for Hansel and Gretel. They looked in a daze. Maybe they heard him. Hugh smirked. "I had words, just then, but everything is fine." "What was that about?!" asked Demelza. Hugh looked at his band mates. Such an odd thought... It was in him to be glib and wave away the phonecall, but Malcolm and Demelza were talented musicians. Leading them through the maze of the corporate sausage machine might be helpful to them. If they were truly a trio, perhaps sharing his side of the business dealings made sense. If he could be a musician perhaps they could learn the ropes of the business side of things. Many performers were quite in the dark about management. That's how the music companies wanted it, really... Why not? Hugh grinned. "I had to remind our label, strenuously," Here, Demelza giggled, for Hugh rolled his eyes in a comic manner at 'strenuously' "That we are a band, not a solo act, for all we are working under your name, Demelza." They could not agree on a band name so they found it made the most sense to simply work as 'Demelza Poldark'. Hugh worked with individual starlets in France so it didn't seem an odd thing. British Warner was a bit stodgy about it. "I gave in a production sheet telling them we are a band. But the couldn't quite wrap their head around the idea when they saw 'Demelza Poldark'." Malcolm asked, "What was wrong?" Jill brought in the tea and then Hugh spent a half hour patiently explaining and answering their questions. He explained all the ways Warner might have paid them less, in the long run, based on the challenge of Hugh's production sheet. "For a start, Malcolm, if they considered your drumming part of the songs' arrangement rather than you being a performer, you would be out of a lot of earnings. Making money on tour is one thing. What will keep you is songwriting credit. If they mislabeled your contribution as if you are a session player, they'd not pay you a penny for your efforts, after the fact. The money to be gained from the songs themselves." Hugh looked at them, sternly. "Getting it right in the front end saves tears later." Red and Blue looked at each other, suddenly very, very glad someone like Hugh was on their side and looking after things. Hugh began scribbling notes in a leather bound agenda book. Demelza looked at it with interest. Hugh looked up. "Have you an agenda? It might be useful to keep them in sync with mine. They shook their heads 'no'. Hugh smiled, warmly. Charmed. They looked a bit like cartoon characters when they happened to make similar movements in tandem. Malcolm looked at the elegant, open book in front Hugh. "I'd lose som'ing like that. I'd never keep 'old of a thing like that" Demelza was intrigued. "I don't have one, but it looks like it might be useful..." Hugh shut his agenda and said, "I'll pick one up for you. If we get you a five-year, it will hold pretty much everything. I expect four albums from you lot!" They smiled. Hugh was confident over their chances and believed they would do well. Behaved as if it was inevitable and it cheered them. Malcolm and Demelza felt they were in good hands. Hugh raised one eyebrow, in a devilish way, as his smirk returned and he said, "Demelza, I have an interesting sponsorship deal you might consider..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So You Want To Be A Rock And Roll Star?, The Byrds 1967
> 
> So you want to be a rock and roll star?  
> Then listen now to what I say  
> Just get an electric guitar  
> Then take some time and learn how to play  
> And with your hair swung right  
> And your pants too tight, it's gonna be all right  
> Then it's time to go downtown  
> Where the agent man won't let you down  
> Sell your soul to the company  
> Who are waiting there to sell plastic ware  
> And in a week or two if you make the charts  
> The girls'll tear you apart  
> The price you paid for your riches and fame  
> Was it all a strange game? You're a little insane  
> The money, the fame, and the public acclaim  
> Don't forget who you are, you're a rock and roll star
> 
> WEA stands for "Warner, Elektra, Atlantic"
> 
> a tip: garbage dump


	13. Do Re Mi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you know the notes to sing  
> You can sing most anything

"Com' 'ere, meine liebe. Let me look into your mouth. Your throat, my little, it is the instrument in vich you must play all your life, no?"

Dem opened her mouth and relinquished herself to Madame Schneider's examination. She had a heavy German accent and the self assured, confident demeanor of a woman who was secure in her own talent. "Ah, ah, ahhhhh..." Dem mimicked her, a little self conscious that her chin was tilted so high. "Gut, very gut..." The voice instructor lay a gentle finger against Dem's neck and removed it. "It is 'ere," she patted Dem's middle with a gentle hand. "'Ere," Madame Schneider waved her fingers on either side of Dem's mouth like a fortune teller, coaxing information from a crystal ball. "And 'ere vence comes the tone, the quality. Come over to the piano. I see you breathe vell."  
Dem walked the scant few feet to the upright piano and shared an encouraging smile. Dem felt comfortable with this voice teacher who was mumsy and so willing to approach seeing what Dem could do in a spirit of collaboration. Guiding her. Madame Schneider sat on the bench. "Now let me 'ear this voice. Gently, gently at first in answer to the piano, just as if you were soothing a baby to sleep."

Ross could hear Dem's singing stop and start through the closed door. It was a quiet street over here. Not much hustle and bustle beneath the window as he flipped through a Gramophone magazine, set out with a clutch of others in the small sitting room where he waited for Dem. Ross did not have formal training for his voice. He got along well enough without it in his music. Dem had a lovely voice. Ross enjoyed her natural voice and, at first, was distressed to think that it might become stiffened up by artificial observances. But Armitage was insistent that Dem receive training. To have exercises that were edifying, to be able to work without strain and not injure herself. "She shall be your 'Dem', only moreso..." he promised Ross in an offhand manner. Ross could see the wisdom of this. He balked at Hugh's suggestion that he would pay for the instruction. Armitage had already give her a custom finished Vox, with his own money, not from the advance. Ross chose to see the guitar as a surety, a mark of Armitage's commitment to the project. But Ross was not comfortable with the idea that Hugh continue to lavish his own money on tangential concerns. "That will not be necessary, thank you." said Ross.

Dem's voice became louder, and stopped suddenly. She resumed. Ross set the magazine aside, looked about the room. There was painted lincrusta, a freize of swirling leaves, over the unpainted wainscoting. The dark wood and dark green walls were very calming. Gilt framed watercolors of landscapes hung here and there. The curtains were dark purple and the furnishings of the room, small tables, a console by the door, had the same warm glow as the antiques in Nampara or Trenwith. A potted fern sat near on a small table, the chairs were upholstered wing backs in a dark green brocade. Their luster spoke of grand houses and perhaps exile from the war, the modesty of grandeur diplaced, the subtle quality of lost fortunes. The rain had stopped but a darkness remained. Grey light filtered in from the window. Ross tapped the tip of his boot against the leg of the chair. He had the sudden, strange memory of his mother, telling him to sit properly and stop fidgeting. He had been small and Ross could practically hear her voice as it came forward, unbidden. Froze him. He set his feet in front of him and sat up. Minding his manners in two different times at once. A young boy, dressed for best, a grown man in black jeans and a linen shirt. He spun his wedding band round his finger with his thumb, a nervous fidget. The slice of memory surprised him. 'If only Mama and Papa could have met Dem...' thought Ross, still puzzled by the strangeness of "hearing" Mama in his head. She had been strict but her voice had been loving. They had been at some sort of recital. He had been Jeremy's age, give or take, and there had not been other children present. He had no trouble remaining still once the music began. The pianist might have been a friend of Mama's. Ross became entranced by the music. Led forward, like a friend taking you by the hand. Was it Ravel...?  
"Ross?"  
Ross blinked and looked up to see Dem and the voice instructor standing in front of it him.  
"Oh! Forgive me!" Ross pulled himself out of his own thoughts and stood to greet Madame Schneider. "Hello, Mr. Poldhu." Ross smiled, nodded. "Good afternoon, Madame." Dem smiled wider, as did the instructor. "Your wife is quite talented. We shall work to keep her voice from strain und improvement in 'er diaphragm..." She cast a fond look upon her pupil. "Good day, Frau Poldhu. I look forward to our next appointment."  
Ross and Dem walked down the pavement and Ross opened the car door for her. "Are you alright, Ross?" asked Dem. He seemed pensive. Ross nodded, sat and closed the car door. "I am alright... I had the sudden wish that my parents could have met you, just then..." Ross started the car but turned a sideways glance toward Dem as she smiled, encouragingly. Ross did not seem upset or downcast.

"They would have loved you." said Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do Re Mi, Julie Andrews 1965
> 
> Let's start at the very beginning  
> A very good place to start  
> When you read you begin with A-be-see  
> When you sing you begin with do-re-mi
> 
> Do-re-mi, do-re-mi  
> The first three notes just happen to be  
> Do-re-mi, do-re-mi
> 
> Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti  
> Let's see if I can make it easy
> 
> Doe, a deer, a female deer  
> Ray, a drop of golden sun  
> Me, a name I call myself  
> Far, a long, long way to run  
> Sew, a needle pulling thread  
> La, a note to follow Sew  
> Tea, a drink with jam and bread  
> That will bring us back to Do (oh-oh-oh)
> 
> Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do  
> So-do!
> 
> Now children, do-re-mi-fa-so and so on  
> are only the tools we use to build a song  
> Once you have these notes in your heads  
> you can sing a million different tunes by mixing them up  
> Like this
> 
> So Do La Fa Mi Do Re
> 
> Can you do that?
> 
> So Do La Fa Mi Do Re  
> So Do La Ti Do Re Do  
> So Do La Ti Do Re Do
> 
> Now, put it all together
> 
> So Do La Fa Mi Do Re, So Do La Ti Do Re Do
> 
> Good!
> 
> But it doesn't mean anything
> 
> So we put in words  
> One word for every note  
> Like this
> 
> When you know the notes to sing  
> You can sing most anything  
> Together!
> 
> When you know the notes to sing  
> You can sing most anything
> 
> Doe, a deer, a female deer  
> Ray, a drop of golden sun  
> Me, a name I call myself  
> Far, a long, long way to run  
> Sew, a needle pulling thread  
> La, a note to follow Sew  
> Tea, a drink with jam and bread  
> That will bring us back to Do
> 
> Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do  
> Do Ti La So Fa Mi Re
> 
> Do Mi Mi  
> Mi So So  
> Re Fa Fa  
> La Ti Ti
> 
> When you know the notes to sing  
> You can sing most anything
> 
> Doe, a deer, a female deer  
> Ray, a drop of golden sun  
> Me, a name I call myself  
> Far, a long, long way to run  
> Sew, a needle pulling thread  
> La, a note to follow Sew  
> Tea, a drink with jam and bread  
> That will bring us back to
> 
> Do So Do  
> Re La Fa  
> Mi Mi Do  
> Fa Re  
> So So Do  
> La La Fa  
> Ti La So Fa Mi Re  
> Ti Do oh oh Ti Do So Do
> 
> Lincrusta: A stiff wallpaper covering with pressed, embossed patterns or designs in it. It can be used as decorative trim or across entire walls.


	14. Avalon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smitten

They arrived home quite late. Dem was led, by the hand, up the stairs. She leaned against Ross who leaned against the doorjamb of the bedroom. Ross chuckled as he patted her cheek with affection with one hand and squeezed her hand gently with the other, as much out of love as holding her steady. "You're tipsy, child..." smiled Ross as Dem released his hand and continued on into their bedroom. "Indeed, I am not!" She regained her balance and walked with cool dignity across the room. But, as she kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed, Dem could admit that her head felt light as a helium balloon and she felt a delicious wooziness when she turned her head to smile at Ross in the doorway. "You are!" laughed Ross, lightly. "I wonder if its right to take advantage of a defenseless Warner recording 'artiste'! teased Ross as he closed the door behind him in a manner that suggested he had no qualms over doing so. Her giggling, her bright eyes sparkling, from excitement, mellow Cheshire Cat smile, tempered and yet heightened by drink as she looked at him from their bed had Ross smitten anew. He was charmed by his young wife and her new adventure, charmed by her tipsy 'come hither' look. She lay across the bed, still wearing her dress, a pretty, silk dress with a twinkling hem of sequins and pretty designs, embroidered in thin gold threads. A spangled black sheer layer over a violet slip dress from a boutique owned by one of Hugh's friends. Dem did not mention to Ross she had shopped there once before. She had bought the scarf, worn as a blouse on the night she met Blue from Eye Of Horace when they had their separation in '75. Dem watched Ross come forward, taking off his suit jacket, pulling the tie free of its knot, unbuttoning his shirt, divesting himself of his clothes and letting them drop to the floor in the languid manner of a man who would have what he wanted.

  
The party had charmed him. Ross saw that Hugh stepped back from the proceedings, much as Ross himself did, and watched Dem and Malcolm enjoy being fêted by their label, Warner. Enjoyed watching them in their excitement. Ross and Hugh even clinked their champagne glasses in conspiratorial glee over them, Red and Blue's friendship so buoyed by their happiness. Ross noticed that Hugh did not use their nicknames either. Hugh mingled as a producer this evening, let his position as bass player take a back seat to his managerial role. He spoke to the other sort of label head muckety mucks and executives with self assured amusement. The fact that he was a musician in this concern was a droll turn for him, for them. Hugh had ambitions for his little trio and his label were anxious to see if his continental arsenal of tricks could be deployed successfully in the U.K. Malcolm, resplendent in a suit Hugh insisted be purchased for him, and Dem in her elegant dress signed their contract with on looking executives in suits applauding and a happy look of satisfaction in both of their faces. In their new clothes they looked quite themselves but also given a lux sheen by their manager. A strange sort of muted, fashionable rock and roll. A "correctness" about them that seemed to enhance their style and... tame it as well. Ross was used to Malcolm's second hand shop shirts and Dem's fey, embroidered clothes. They were not much removed from their own selves in these new clothes. It was like them but very elevated. Ross wondered if Hugh would pull them into his conception of how to be or be pulled into their style instead. They tried to put the Rolling Stones in suits when they started... they rebelled, wore their regular clothes instead. Ross was amused to see Malcolm had lost the jacket from near the beginning of the night, preferring his shirt sleeves, and was still clomping about in his regular black work shoes. Dem wore her dress like a princess and like a girl running about a playground simultaneously, her elegant shoes removed and under a chair somewhere. Hugh might not get his way... Ross was often bemused by Malcolm and Dem being so joined at the hip, so often arm and arm. It was a better fit here, among all these label people. Ross was relieved to not have to escort Dem himself, happier to be able to watch from afar. He disliked these sorts of affairs and Dem so often blossomed in them. It was better that she had a co conspirator to wander about and enjoy this party with, enjoy their night without dragging him with them, closed mouthed and closed off, Ross' default at these sorts of things. Ned's gregarious personality smoothed his own band's reception, the few times duty called for this kind of thing. Resurgam had signed their contract in a faceless EMI office with little fanfare... And the music business was different then. An industry had built out of those earlier days. It was a well oiled machine these days. A machine that now had his wife and her friend in its workings...

Dem could feel her giggling reverberate throughout her body. Feel how comfy the bed felt underneath her as Ross stood naked with his erection wavering like some sort of divining rod towards her. Ross smiled. "You are drunk! Drunk on success!" He came near amused that she was amused. He drew a finger up her leg. "You must sit up, Dem. I don't want to be responsible for ruining your pretty frock!" Dem's smile had a wickedness in it. She turned her head to look at him, her body still prone across the bed with a cheeky grin. "You're so respectable now, Ross!" she giggled. "I should have thought you'd take me in it regardless..." He grinned. He divested her of her panties. "That could be arranged..."

Ross lay on his back drowsing. Dem curled near, still dressed in her dress and sleeping soundly after enjoying her party, after enjoying Ross attentions afterwards. Ross woke and turned to look at her. Her back was to him but the dress did not have a zipper visible. He frowned. "Dem?" She murmured. "Hmmmm?" Ross asked, befuddled. "How does the dress unfasten? How is it undone?" She flapped a hand at her hip. "The zip is on the side..." Ross felt about and found the pull that opened the dress. It was tiny and slender. The zipper opened and Dem yawned as she stood to take it off. The opening in its side made it easy to remove, over her head. Her breasts were always pretty. Ross watched her as her breasts were freed as the dress was pulled over her head. Dem dropped the dress to the floor, looked down upon him, in the wan light of the darkened bedoom. He had hung back at the party and looked at her and Blue with such pride on his face. He looked loving and proud of her, happy for her. He put up with the kind of formal affair she knew he disliked and still looked so happy. Ross had a toast with Hugh, clinked their glasses in friendship, he gave Blue a pat on the back and congratulated him in friendship. He looked at her with such love. He taught her guitar and gave her piano lessons. He taught her well and now she was a proper musician. She smiled in the dark room. Ross only just saw it before she sat astride him and concentrated her efforts on bringing him pleasure. A subtle change in her face, a seriousness in it as he shut his eyes in rapturous enjoyment of her attentions.

Dem lay over Ross in their bed, draped over him, his arms around her as they slept a quiet, purring sleep. 

Dawn's light filtered through the curtains. They had the loggy sort of awakening that follows the pleasantries of the night before.  
"Are you asleep?" Ross said.  
"No." said Demelza.  
Then she moved and put her finger on his arm. He rose slowly and bent over her, took her face in his hands and kissed her on the eyes, the mouth, the forehead. With a queer, tigerish limpness she allowed him to do what he wanted. He gently removed the sheets, released her from them and gazed upon this woman who was poised to begin a new adventure. Smiled at her. His Dem. Only then did she put up her hands to his face and kiss him in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avalon, Roxy Music 1982
> 
> Now the party's over  
> I'm so tired  
> Then I see you coming  
> Out of nowhere  
> Much communication in a motion  
> Without conversation or a notion
> 
> Avalon
> 
> When the samba takes you  
> Out of nowhere  
> And the background's fading  
> Out of focus  
> Yes the picture's changing  
> Every moment  
> And your destination  
> You don't know it
> 
> Avalon
> 
> Dancing, dancing  
> Dancing, dancing
> 
> When you bossanova  
> There's no holding  
> Would you have me dancing  
> Out of nowhere
> 
> Avalon


	15. All Tomorrow's Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trio

Hugh was content. He sat at his desk, feet up, looking through photos from the night of contract signing. They were perfect. That his band, his enfants sauvages, Hansel and Gretel, had lost his jacket and her shoes within minutes of having the signing pictures taken did not matter. It showed their personalities well for the different people who would see the pictures later. In the serious press, the trade papers, they looked like a more polished version of themselves. They stood among the Warner elite, elegant and attractive.The music papers and woman's magazines were given the photo of Malcolm seated on a sofa, his shirt sleeves rolled up and tie pulled askew in his workingman's shoes, looking up at Demelza seated on the back of the sofa, in her pretty dress her bare feet resting on the seat near Malcolm's knee. She looked down at him and they were laughing together. They looked down to earth and fun. Hugh stood in the first photo, sunglasses off, flanking Demelza to her left, Malcolm on her right. The second, candid photo ended up in more places. It was intentional. Showing Demelza relaxed and happy with her friend, that she be seen as one might see someone interesting at a party was a more potent image than a publicity picture of them as a band. Malcolm for all his short hair and thick soled shoes was not a punk and Demelza for all her peasant blouses and bare feet or padding about in black tights like a dancer, was not a hippie per se. They hovered within a grey area that could be seen as acceptable to both styles and also be accessible to ordinary pop fans. Hugh looked at them in the picture. He persuaded Malcolm to come to his tailor, to have a suit that fit when he realized the only suit jackets the drummer had were second hand and he did not have trousers to match any of them. He smiled to see that Malcolm still wore his ordinary shoes and a slender tie that was clearly from a charity shop. Demelza shone in a lovely gown from Caroline's shop. Her elegant heels were abandoned most of the night. She floated through the room like a fairy. They were ever themselves. The formal pictures were proof that they cleaned up well. The informal shots proved that they did not have to. They had their way of being and it was quite attractive. Demelza would be a glossier version of 'the girl up the road' retain the glamour about her but still feel accessible to girls, like Jill had been, and music fans who could not help but be impressed by her musicianship. Hugh spent so much time with Malcolm and Demelza, watching Ross was a novelty. Her husband doted on her, but still gave way as she went about the party with Malcolm, much like when he first met them at the party in his house. Ross Poldark was content that night. Hung back and watched his wife in a quiet sort of pride. Hugh was still rankled by Poldark's attitude over the 'Valley Of Bread' album. It was heartening to see he supported his wife and seemed pleased. Hugh half imagined he would be domineering but he was happy and perfectly nice. Poldark seemed as happy for Malcolm as his wife. 'Red and Blue' were attractive together. Poldark looked unconcerned about their closeness and Malcolm was adamant that they were just friends. Can a man and woman just be friends? Hugh looked at the picture of them again. 'Perhaps a cigar is just a cigar...' thought Hugh.

Malcolm and Demelza walked up the pavement with Hugh alongside Demelza. She held Malcolm's hand in a casual manner. They thought nothing of it. They were simply walking. "You looked very dapper in your suit, Malcolm." said Hugh. Blue looked a bit embarrassed. "Ta. It was good of ya t'buy it, go t'the shop an' all. I was that worried I'd show you up!" Hugh, who's eyebrows knit and went beneath his dark glasses briefly asked, "Why would you?" Demelza looked to Blue, curious to hear the answer. "I ain't the sort t'be in a proper tailor shop, gettin' measured an' that..." Hugh chuckled. Malcolm charmed Hugh's tailor as much as anyone else who met the Scot. "You seemed quite at ease to me." said Hugh. Malcolm shrugged. "Well, when in Rome... I 'ave no notion 'ow t'be in a place like that!" Hugh laughed again. "You will never go wrong being as you are, Malcolm. I promise you!" Demelza gave Malcolm's hand a squeeze. "I was nervous when I first went to the dressmakers!" Red and Blue exchanged a smile. "Were you?" asked Hugh. Demelza nodded. "I was fourteen and had a dress made for the Easter..." Hugh's eyebrows went up over his glasses now. "The Truro Charity Ball?" She nodded with a smile. Hugh's smirk widened. "Mama attended that event when she was young..." Demelza turned back to Malcolm. "I went with my cousin, Verity, but I was nervous. I was still a 'Luggy' deep down..." Hugh frowned again. "A 'Luggy'?" Red had a sweet little blush on her cheeks. Blue squeezed her hand back. Red blinked her gratitude. They both knew what it felt like to have their class held against them, to be kept in one's place by their 'betters', be looked down upon, and to be accused of getting above ones self by peers too. "I was born in Illugan." said Demelza. Hugh walked alongside his band, his working class drummer and a guitarist who had a similar background but found herself whisked away to Hempel Girls School and the same Truro Charity Ball his mother spoke of. He realized Hansel and Gretel were more alike than he first thought. Hugh smiled. A proper smile. He opened the door to the foyer of the rehearsal room and bade them enter first. "I suspect God broke the mold when He made you two." He brought up the rear behind them as they nodded a greeting to the man at the desk, used to seeing them now. "You be yourselves, where ever you are, and you'll not go wrong..."

They played well, they began to consider what to record. Hugh wanted to "float" at least one single, maybe two, to get a bit of buzz going. Then the album could have an anchor, a song that people would recognize. Demelza and Malcolm had recorded professionally already, they were strong musicians and creative. These days of work were fun and had more purpose now that the contracts were signed. Hugh had representatives from Orange Amps meet Demelza and hear her play. They just about fell over themselves to sponsor her and wanted to have an advertising campaign feature her. Hugh, still enjoying the image of Demelza as a siren suggested a mermaid concept to be shot at Nampara. This was agreed upon by all. The Orange company thought it brilliant and Demelza would be with her children back in Cornwall rather than London.  
Hugh, home with his feet up and a glass of whisky, thought about his day. He had mentioned to Demelza that it might be nice to have pearls in her hair for the shoot. She said she had no pearls but might be able to borrow a strand from her housekeeper. Hugh's smirk froze into place. Here is a girl who was betwixt and between in the strangest ways. She had gone to the Easter Ball as a girl like any other 'Hempy', but had to borrow pearls from her servant. Ross Poldark was from a family as ancient as his. It was baffling how he could be proper gentry and yet so... His uncle's comment rang in his head, "...the Nampara Poldarks are said to be somewhat feral..." Hugh sighed. He had said to Demelza, "You must have your own pearls, I should think. If they should be damaged from hairspray or something you mustn't risk Mrs. Paynter's. Leave it to me." That wasn't quite fibbing. Hairspray could discolor pearls. The stylist would know not to damage real pearls... Hugh felt Demelza should have her own pearls. A matter of principle. It was a trifle to pick up a suitable strand and Demelza would look like a siren born of the sea. 'What costume shall the poor girl wear...?' thought Hugh. 'Hansel and Gretel made do, with his second hand clothes, with her lopsided life, with a husband too thoughtless to provide her a proper contract for his record or her own guitar or give her the most basic of jewels. They made do and did not ask for more. Well no more. They were on their way up. Cinderella shall go to the ball and certainly not in her servant's pearls.' He sipped his drink. They were incongruous, perhaps. The continental executive in the dark glasses and black trench coat and his enfants sauvages in their hand me down clothes. A strange trio, perhaps, but a trio indeed. 'If we succeed they can buy whatever they care to have. For now, I have the means so I shall look after them. It's only right that Malcolm have a proper suit to rely on, should needs arise. Only right that Demelza have a guitar to call her own, a necklace... It's little enough to see them provided for well... And besides,' thought Hugh as he drank the last of his whisky. 'You can't take it with you...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Tomorrow's Parties, Japan 1979
> 
> And what costume shall the poor girl wear  
> To all tomorrows parties?  
> A hand-me-down dress from who knows where  
> To all tomorrows parties?  
> Where will she go, what shall she do  
> When midnight comes around?  
> She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown  
> And cry behind the door  
> And what costume shall the poor girl wear  
> To all tomorrows parties?  
> Why silken trimmings of yesterday's gown  
> To all tomorrows parties?  
> What shall she do with Thursday's rags  
> When Monday comes around?  
> She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown  
> And cry behind the door  
> And what costume shall the poor girl wear  
> To all tomorrows parties?  
> For Thursday's child is Sunday's clown  
> For whom none will go mourning  
> A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown  
> Of rags and silks, a costume  
> Fit for one who sits and cries  
> For all tomorrows parties
> 
> The original song by the Velvet Underground is the version for the different parts of the main story. This cover version by the band Japan has a droning "hive of industry" synthesizer sound and saxophone coolness in it that heralds the electric, New Wave sound of the 1980s.
> 
> enfants sauvages: wild children, rebellious
> 
> Perhaps a cigar is just a cigar: Sigmund Freud who put a lot of emphasis on dreams being symbolic, especially sexually symbolic, was said to have suggested that not everything has to have symbolic meaning. Hugh considers the idea that Malcolm and Demelza are just friends and his prurient musings over them are misguided.
> 
> Ta: thank you

**Author's Note:**

> Sympathy For The Devil, Rolling Stones 1975
> 
> Please allow me to introduce myself  
> I'm a man of wealth and taste  
> I've been around for a long, long year  
> Stole many a man's soul to waste  
> And I was 'round when Jesus Christ  
> Had his moment of doubt and pain  
> Made damn sure that Pilate  
> Washed his hands and sealed his fate  
> Pleased to meet you  
> Hope you guess my name  
> But what's puzzling you  
> Is the nature of my game  
> I stuck around St. Petersburg  
> When I saw it was a time for a change  
> Killed the czar and his ministers  
> Anastasia screamed in vain  
> I rode a tank  
> Held a general's rank  
> When the blitzkrieg raged  
> And the bodies stank  
> Pleased to meet you  
> Hope you guess my name, oh yeah  
> Ah, what's puzzling you  
> Is the nature of my game, oh yeah  
> I watched with glee  
> While your kings and queens  
> Fought for ten decades  
> For the gods they made  
> I shouted out  
> Who killed the Kennedys?  
> When after all  
> It was you and me  
> Let me please introduce myself  
> I'm a man of wealth and taste  
> And I laid traps for troubadours  
> Who get killed before they reached Bombay  
> Pleased to meet you  
> Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah  
> But what's puzzling you  
> Is the nature of my game, oh yeah, get down, baby  
> Pleased to meet you  
> Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah  
> But what's confusing you  
> Is just the nature of my game, mm yeah  
> Just as every cop is a criminal  
> And all the sinners saints  
> As heads is tails  
> Just call me Lucifer  
> 'Cause I'm in need of some restraint  
> So if you meet me  
> Have some courtesy  
> Have some sympathy, and some taste  
> Use all your well-learned politesse  
> Or I'll lay your soul to waste, mm yeah  
> Pleased to meet you  
> Hope you guessed my name, mm yeah  
> But what's puzzling you  
> Is the nature of my game, mm mean it, get down  
> Oh yeah, get on down  
> Oh yeah  
> Oh yeah  
> Tell me baby, what's my name  
> Tell me honey, can ya guess my name  
> Tell me baby, what's my name  
> I tell you one time, you're to blame  
> Oh, right  
> What's my name  
> Tell me, baby, what's my name  
> Tell me, sweetie, what's my name


End file.
